


Break a Leg and Other Cliches

by Engineer104



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Ballroom Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-22 21:20:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11975241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engineer104/pseuds/Engineer104
Summary: When Matt is injured just before a competition, Pidge thinks she'll have to forfeit...unless she can enlist a last-minute partner.Meanwhile, Lance's partner quits on him a week before the competition, demolishing his chances of beating the reigning champion. At least until Hunk suggests...Pidge.But Pidge and Lance have vastly different tastes and talents, so reconciling those differences might take more effort than they initially bargained for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So a quick disclaimer that applies to the entire fic (aside from the usual "i don't own the characters blah blah blah"): Everything I know about ballroom dancing I learned from _Dancing with the Stars_ years ago. Also some Googling. Also I made some stuff up, especially with respect to the specific competition...that is sort of designed around a piano thing I competed in about eight years ago. SO if i say something blatantly wrong (like, a technicality), PLEASE let me know. I'm not here to present false information, even if it is just...dancing.
> 
> In any case this should be a fun AU and I hope you like it!!
> 
> My thanks to the lovely [bouquet-roserade](http://bouquet-roserade.tumblr.com/) for the beta!!

Pidge's phone vibrated with a call right as she walked into the vacant studio. She didn't bother looking at the caller ID before answering.

"Hello?"

"Pidge?"

"Oh, hey Shiro," she said. She multi-tasked, putting her phone on speaker and setting it on the floor. "What's the sitch?"

"I have some...news," Shiro said. She heard the hesitation in his voice, and she instantly stiffened, freezing as she reached for her sneakers.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Matt can't make it to your rehearsal."

Pidge paused halfway through untying her shoelaces. "Why isn't he calling me to tell me that then?"

"Because he's currently conked out in a hospital bed on morphine," Shiro said all in a rush.

"WHAT?!" Pidge almost dropped her phone in shock. "What happened?! Do Mom and Dad know? Where are  _ you _ ?"

"Don't worry, I'm with him and he's perfectly fine," Shiro reassured her.

"Shiro, you just told me he's  _ unconscious _ and at the  _ hospital _ ! How the hell is that 'fine'?"

"All right, you got me there," Shiro said. "But he will be fine. He got hit by a car."

"Hit by a car," Pidge echoed.

"A broken leg, some bruised ribs. He might not even have to spend the night here."

"Great," Pidge gritted out. She retied her shoes. "I'm coming. What hospital are you at?"

Shiro gave her the address, said that yes, he did already talk to her parents, and after ending the call, she collected her belongings. At that moment, dancing was the last thing on her mind, but later...well, later would be another story.

* * *

Naturally Matt required over a month of convalescence. And naturally, he was apologetic that he would have to miss their ballroom competition the very next week.

"Matt," Pidge said, annoyed, "you are lying in a hospital bed. You just got hit by a car."

"And you don't have a partner for the competition," he complained.

"I know," said Pidge, "but right now, I'm more worried about you."

Matt smiled, and she could tell he was still under the influence of painkillers from how unfocused his eyes were. "And later you'll realize you still want to compete."

Damn him, he was right. Pidge would still want to compete, even if dancing was currently the last thing on her mind. Even the fluff psychology class she planned on taking next semester was more important to her at the moment than a ballroom contest.

(She could think longingly of the beautiful, flowing green dress she already had ready later.)

Their parents arrived not long after Pidge did, and Colleen fussed over Matt while Sam asked what happened.

Pidge, reassured that Matt would be all right, excused herself so she didn't have to hear the same information again, and once she stood in the hallway outside Matt's room, she checked her phone. There was a brief inquiring message from Hunk saying he baked extra peanut butter cookies and asking if she'd like some. She smiled and replied yes, of course, and out of desire for a sympathetic ear she told him what happened to Matt.

Hunk came back with,  _ Does that mean you're forfeiting the competition next week? _

After putting it off for an hour, Pidge allowed herself to think about the competition. She sighed; she was really looking forward to it. She and Matt were both convinced they could  _ finally _ place this year too.

She replied to Hunk with a regretful,  _ Most likely. _

Hunk messaged back quickly with,  _ I have an idea. _

Pidge sent a question mark, but she didn't get anything back immediately. She frowned at her phone before putting it away.

Later, after helping Matt up the porch stairs and down the hall into his bedroom, Hunk finally texted again.

_ Have you met my friend Lance? _

\---

They were never a couple, Lance reminded himself as he reread the single brief text message on his phone for what felt like the hundredth time. But it still hurt like a breakup.

One week before the competition, and all he had left of Nyma - his ballroom dancing partner of almost two years - was a short text.

_ Moving on to new things. Hope you understand. :) _

When Lance received it, he was so stunned he didn't reply.

He  _ still _ couldn't bring himself to reply.

The message was so stupidly vague, yet Lance's stomach churned. His chest clenched painfully, and he glared at his cell phone screen. He was hurt, sure, but he was also angry. Because Nyma not only ditched him, but she also stole his opportunity at victory.

He had to forfeit. There was no ballroom dancing without a partner.

Lance brooded over his tea, but when Hunk walked through the front door of their shared apartment, he plastered on a smile. "Hey buddy!" he greeted him cheerfully. "You want tea? I made a whole pot."

Hunk eyed him suspiciously but joined him at the kitchen table after taking off his boots and jacket. "Since when do you make tea?" he asked, opening the pot and sniffing it. "Also, you should've taken out the bags a while ago, Lance; it'll be too bitter to drink now."

Lance sipped from his mug. "I'm sorry, Hunk," he quipped, "we can't all be paragons of the kitchen."

Hunk rolled his eyes but poured tea into a brightly patterned mug anyway, and Lance was only mildly offended when he stirred in at least three spoons of sugar.

"A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down," Hunk said, grinning.

"It's Earl Grey, not an herbal!"

Hunk took a sip and grimaced. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, dude." He took the seat across from him and stared sternly at him. "So no luck finding a new partner?"

Lance sighed. "There's only a week until the competition," he said, "and it's too late for someone to enter anyway." He smirked then and added, "Besides, I'm a good enough dancer for two."

It was a feeble lie, and Hunk knew it.

Hunk's smile turned sympathetic. "Maybe this is a good thing," he suggested.

Lance snorted. "Sure," he said. "My partner ditches me for God knows what else right before a competition, so I have no time to find a new partner. That's a  _ great _ thing."

"No, no, you misunderstood me," Hunk told him. "Maybe you need to think about it differently."

"And how's that?" Lance lifted his mug and stared at the clear brown liquid as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

"Well, you used to complain all the time when the judges said you and Nyma have no  _ chemistry _ ," Hunk pointed out in his 'voice of reason'.

"Because we had  _ plenty _ of chemistry," said Lance.

"Lance, I may not know much about dancing," Hunk said, tone verging on impatience, "but I know enough to tell you that looking good together and having chemistry are not the same thing."

"I almost failed freshman chemistry, Hunk," Lance reminded him, flashing a grin. "Stoney-o-metry almost killed me."

"Stoichiometry," Hunk corrected automatically.

"Whatever," Lance said, waving his hand. "And Nyma and I got along fine."

"That's not my point," said Hunk.

Lance rested his forehead on his arm. "I don't want to talk about this, Hunk."

"No, I get it, you and Nyma always placed so you thought you were doing fine."

"Never beat Keith, though," Lance complained. He pinched his eyes closed tightly enough that he saw stars on the inside of his eyelids.

"Maybe you  _ can _ with the right partner," said Hunk, tone suggestive.

Lance slowly raised his head and narrowed his eyes at Hunk. "What do you know that I don't?"

Hunk grinned. "What if I told you that someone in your class  _ also _ needs a last-minute partner?"

Lance grimaced. "I don't know, Hunk. Can I get used to someone new in just a week? Can  _ she _ ?"

"You want to win, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then just try," Hunk said, gentler this time. "Meet her just once, and see what you both think."

Lance rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said, "but she better be great."

* * *

Pidge's first impression of Lance was that he was tall. Taller than Matt, if not quite as skinny.

They were meeting at the dance studio that they were both accustomed to using for rehearsal, at a time arranged by Hunk, who happened to be Lance's roommate, a coincidence that Pidge didn't have time to contemplate.

Lance appraised her as closely as she appraised him. He looked her up and down, a gesture that might've flustered her if they were in a different setting. But here, they both meant business.

"So what happened to your partner?" Lance asked, smirking at her.

(He’d been doing that a lot; she wondered if it was his default expression.)

"A car broke his leg," she told him bluntly.

Lance winced. "He's okay?"

"Yeah, thank God," said Pidge. "What about yours?"

"Oh, she quit on me," said Lance. He sounded casual, but even though they just met, she detected a hint of hurt in the way his shoulders drooped slightly. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and asked, "So you and your partner get good scores?"

"Pretty good, but we never placed," Pidge admitted to him. But this year their routine was better, cleaner and more refined than any before, and both she and Matt worked hard to get it there, hard enough that she could probably dance it in her sleep at this point. She thought they would place, at least until Matt's accident.

And now she stood with someone she'd never danced with before, someone whose style and taste were vastly different from her own, hoping they could set up a routine that allowed them to complement each other and then practice it until they got it down perfectly. All within a single week.

Lance was used to placing, she could tell by the disappointment that crossed his face, and she was not surprised when he said, "I've never placed lower than third runner up in the last two years."

Right. She remembered him and his partner, a tall, beautiful blonde girl; they favored Latin dances. Pidge and Matt, on the other hand, favored the waltz.

"Well, I don't want to forfeit," said Pidge. "To me that's worse than not placing."

"We're in agreement then," said Lance, smirking. "We can do it, I think. We just have to work out a routine and practice it all in a week."

"Right," said Pidge. "What dance?"

"Hmm, what were you and your brother planning?" Lance asked. He rested his hands on his hips, expectant.

"A waltz," replied Pidge. She shifted uncomfortably and bent down to adjust the straps on her high-heeled shoes, waiting for the inevitable.

"A...waltz," said Lance. She practically  _ heard _ him rolling his eyes. "Boring."

"And what were  _ you _ planning, Lance?" she retorted, straightening.

"For this competition?" Lance grinned at her, winking. "The tango."

Pidge hated the livid blush that undoubtedly bloomed on her cheeks. "We are  _ not _ doing that," she said.

Lance crossed his arms and leaned against the bar. "I figured. Samba?" he suggested.

"Never done it before," she said. "But before you say anything, I've seen it before."

"What?" Lance teased. "Don't think you can pull it off?"

"Oh, I know I can't pull it off," Pidge admitted easily enough.

"Fine, I'll try your waltz." Lance shrugged. "How hard can it be?"

* * *

It was not hard, exactly, but it might as well have been with how difficult it proved to be to sync with Pidge.

After stretching, Pidge turned on the music - too slow and sedate, in Lance's opinion - and showed him her routine. He knew all the basic steps of a waltz from lessons years ago, but he never liked it much.

The waltz was  _ boring _ .

"Your feet are dragging, Lance," Pidge complained not for the first time, tightening her grip on his shoulder. "I thought you liked fast-paced dances."

"This is not a fast-paced dance, Pidge," Lance pointed out. "And wait, aren't  _ I _ supposed to lead?"

"Then lead!" Pidge retorted.

He tried, but years-old muscle memory wasn't helping even with the most basic steps. Not to mention, Pidge was a shorter and slimmer partner than he was used to.

In the end, they didn't even make it through the song.

Pidge slipped out of his arms and huffed in frustration as she stopped the music. "How can you screw up a  _ waltz _ ?" she demanded. "A waltz is one of the easiest dances!"

Lance shrugged. "It's boring," he told her, again. "I need something livelier. Why don't we try  _ my _ dance?"

"I'm not doing a tango with someone I barely know," she said, flushing.

Lance, pleased by her reaction, smirked. "I was just kidding, you know," he said. "The tango's not that fun either."

She scowled at him, and he thought she would throw something at him if the only thing within reach wasn't her laptop. "Then what was your routine, Lance?" she asked, voice dangerously soft.

Maybe if Pidge wasn't more than a head shorter than him he would be scared, but he was still wary when he replied, "The cha-cha."

Pidge blinked at him. "Why am I not surprised?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Pidge tossed her arms up. "It's bouncy and energetic."

"Why is that a bad thing?" Lance wondered, crossing his arms.

"It's not," Pidge said, "but it's...it's--" She pointed at him, but cut herself off and glared at his reflection in the mirror.

"We can just do our own routine," Lance suggested. "A week should be enough to choreograph an entire dance, right? They do it all the time on  _ Dancing with the Stars _ ."

"Then what dance?" Pidge pressed. "We have incompatible styles. You like fast and bouncy dances, and I prefer something more measured and...graceful." She shrugged.

"Measured and graceful and fast and bouncy." Lance tapped his chin, thinking. "You know, you have good footwork. Your technique is good; you're just a little..." He waved his hand, since he didn't want to offend her so soon in their partnership.

She raised an eyebrow at him and crossed her arms. "Just say it," she said. "You won't hurt my feelings."

"Stiff."

Surprisingly, she didn't react much more beyond a sigh and a shrug. "You're not the first person to say that."

"Well, maybe learn to loosen up and we'll have this in the bag."

"We need to find that bag first though," said Pidge, and Lance finally saw a trace of her first genuine smile since they met.

"All right!" he said.

"Let's just start by looking at a list of the dances permitted for the competition for some ideas," Pidge said, sitting down and grabbing her laptop. She leaned against the mirror and patted the space next to her.

Lance accepted her unspoken invitation as she pulled up a list on her Internet browser. They spent the next half-hour debating the pros and cons of each dance, and even watching a few videos for some technical details.

Despite the good-natured tone of their debating, Pidge still got frustrated with him. "Fine!" she said. "We can't agree on a dance!"

"Then what do we do?" Lance asked, dreading what she might answer. He doesn't  _ not _ want to dance, even if his partner was incompatible with his style.

"Pick a dance," she said, twirling a strand of brown hair around a finger. "And come tomorrow prepared to convince me it's the right one."

"You're giving me homework?" Lance said, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Yes, yes I am," she said, "and I'll do it too." She closed her browser and moved to shut her laptop when Lance caught sight of her desktop background.

"Batman?" he said, grinning at her.

Pidge rolled her eyes but otherwise didn't dignify him with a response. She stuffed her laptop into its case and changed her shoes.

While Lance packed his own belongings into his duffel, he couldn't help but watch Pidge do the same. She was short and petite in figure, which was hardly the body  _ type _ for a female dancer, but she made up for any physical shortcomings with her footwork, which he admitted was better than his own.

Pretty too, he observed idly, if in a boyish sort of way, between her rather short hair and skinny hips.

"What are you looking at?" she demanded, glaring at him through narrowed eyes.

Lance jumped when she caught him staring. He smiled sheepishly. "Oh, just...admiring my new partner."

Pidge's glare didn't diminish, even though she flushed. "Well stop that," she said. She stood up and shrugged into her jacket. "You leaving now or staying?"

"I guess I'll go home now," said Lance, scratching his eyebrow. "Catch up on my TV, and do my homework obviously." He flashed her a grin.

To his surprise, she returned it, though it looked a touch relieved. "Great," she said. She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, and he followed her out of the studio and down the stairs to the sidewalk in front of the building.

They stood together awkwardly in the chilly winter air for a few minutes. Pidge pointed towards the parking lot. "Do you...need a ride?" she asked.

"Nope," said Lance, tugging the collar of his jacket up to warm his chin. "The bus and I are old friends. But thanks."

"Sure," she said.

They walked in opposite directions, her to the parking lot and him to the bus stop a few blocks away, his mind occupied with their almost disastrous rehearsal. Though he had to hope that maybe, just maybe their fledgling partnership had promise.

It was only when he was riding the bus home that he remembered he didn't once think of Nyma.

* * *

At home Pidge finally breached the question with Matt.

"How would you feel if I have a different partner for this competition?" she asked Matt, all in a rush.

He was lying in bed, looking decidedly miserable about his physical condition, with a book propped up on his stomach. But he glanced at her when she asked her question.

"I wouldn't feel abandoned," he said, frowning thoughtfully. "If that's what you're asking?"

Pidge nodded, sitting on the edge of his bed. She glanced at the cover of his book curiously, at least until she noticed it was something she read a while ago. And recommended to him a while ago. "You're finally reading that?" she said, tapping the cover.

"Finally," he said. He stared at the page, but his eyes weren't moving so she knew he wasn’t reading.

"Matt--"

"Seriously, Katie," he interrupted her, gaze pinning her, "I have  _ no _ problem with you getting a new partner. In fact, I would encourage it."

Pidge gripped her knees, fingernails digging into her sweatpants. "You seem upset though," she pointed out.

"I'm not upset about you making do with someone else," said Matt. He gestured to his plastered leg. "I'm upset about getting hit by a car."

Pidge ran a hand through her hair, shame at making Matt's upset about  _ her _ predicament filling her. "You're right," she said, "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be," Matt said, reaching forward and ruffling her hair. When she swatted his hand away, he laughed. "So tell me about him."

"What's there to tell?" Pidge asked, shrugging. She played with the frayed edge of Matt's bedspread.

"How'd he get partner-less?"

"She ditched him," she replied.

Matt closed his book, all pretense of reading abandoned in favor of focusing on their conversation. "Sucks for him, but good for you."

"God, I hope so," Pidge admitted. "I'm not sure we'll be able to dance together."

"And why is that?" Matt wondered, steepling his fingers behind his head.

"He's just so..." She made a sweeping gesture with her hand, not quite sure what she wanted to say, except for, "We have different styles and techniques. I'm not sure we'll be compatible, especially in only a week."

"Fake it till you make it," Matt said, shrugging.

It was almost classic advice to them, at this point. Their dance instructor from years ago used to say it; so long as they were committed to improving their technique, then pretending to already have it developed would enable you to perfect it. But Pidge wasn't sure there would be any 'making it' this time, and told her brother as much.

"He's energetic and  _ loose _ ," she explained, "and I'm shorter than he's used to. And we don't even like the same dances!"

Matt grinned, staring past her. "Oh, you never know," he commented cheerfully, "you could be perfect complements."

Pidge gaped at him, doubtful. "Are you still on the painkillers, Matt?" she demanded.

Matt only laughed.

* * *

All Hunk knew about dancing he learned through hearing Lance and Pidge speak about it. But that didn't mean Lance escaped suffering his suggestions.

"Why don't you do the cha-cha?" Hunk asked.

"Because Pidge said, and I quote,  _ 'My hips don't move like that, Lance.' _ " Lance rolled his eyes.

"And why won't you do any of the ones she likes?"

"Because Pidge said, and again, I quote,  _ 'Your footwork and posture need improvement, Lance.' _ " Lance sighed. "It's not my fault the dances she wants to do are so  _ boring _ ."

"Really?" Hunk said skeptically. "Because I watched a couple of videos, and they look like fun." Lance's scowl only deepened as he continued, "You probably just don't like them because you need pretty rigid posture."

"All right, Hunk," Lance said, "since  _ you’re _ the ballroom dance expert here, what do  _ you  _ think we should dance?"

Hunk pointed at his open computer screen. "What about this one?"

Lance followed his finger to the video playing, and when Hunk turned up the volume he heard a lively tune. Lance contemplated the dancers, their posture, their footwork, their  _ chemistry _ . And he grinned.

"Hunk," he said, wrapping an arm around his friend's shoulders, "you may not be a ballroom expert, but you, my dude, are a  _ genius _ ."

Hunk smiled. "Thanks, I try."

* * *

"The quickstep!"

Pidge, halfway through her stretches, bounced up from touching her toes. She glanced at Lance, who burst through the studio door with a manic look on his face. "The what now?" she asked.

"The quickstep," said Lance. He approached her, dropping his bag and gesturing with his hands. "You suggested the foxtrot yesterday too, right?"

"Yeah..."

"And I said it looked boring?"

Pidge frowned but nodded. "But the quickstep is just a more complex version of the foxtrot," she told him.

"Yes, which means I'll be too busy trying to get the steps right to get bored!" Lance informed her, triumphant. He grinned, and it was almost infectious.

Almost.

Pidge crossed her arms. "I don't know," she said. "Matt and I attempted it once, and we crashed and burned."

"Yeah, but now you have  _ me _ !" Lance's thumb jabbed his chest, and his grin didn’t falter.

Pidge considered him. Considered her. Considered their  _ incompatible styles _ . "All right," she said, "we'll try it and see how it works."

"Yes!" said Lance. "Does this mean I completed my homework?"

Pidge actually laughed. "Yes, I guess it does."

"Good, good." He grabbed her by the shoulders and added, "This will work; trust me."

One of the most important rules of ballroom dancing was trusting your partner, especially if he was the one leading you, and for all the difficulties she and Lance had in consolidating their individual styles, she knew they wanted the same thing. So Pidge trusted him, because she had to. And because she wanted to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They fight, they make up, they hang out. In that order
> 
> (They also dance. Obviously)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to the lovely [bouquet-roserade](http://bouquet-roserade.tumblr.com/) for the beta!!
> 
> Enjoy!!

That rehearsal they mostly spent watching videos and starting to hammer out choreography inspired by the basic steps. Unsurprisingly, Pidge was better at technique than she was at devising the choreography, but Lance made up for her shortcomings.

In some ways, Lance couldn’t help but be impressed with the ways they managed to complement each other. At least, usually.

The next day they met again for their third rehearsal, and he wasn't sure but Pidge seemed grumpier than he was yet to see her.

"That time of month?" he quipped as she laced up her heels. When she glared at him, he raised his hands and added, "Hey, I have sisters."

"I'm fine," she all but growled.

Lance squatted in front of her. "Are you sure, Pidge?" he asked, serious.

She stared at him for a long moment, then said, "I overslept this morning, but I'll be fine."

"Well, if you're sure..." Lance stood and offered her a hand. She hesitated but accepted, and he easily pulled her to her feet.

(She was so much lighter than Nyma, and he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe they could squeeze a lift into their routine...)

"Let's just get started," said Pidge, "if you're ready."

"Right," said Lance. He ran through his stretches after taking off his jacket. He could feel Pidge's eyes on him the entire time, but when he looked he couldn't tell if she was impatient or... "Like what you see?"

Pidge scowled at him, but he thought he saw a flush in her cheeks too. "Not enough," she said.

Lance grinned and stood, ready.

They did a quick warm-up, going through some basic steps. He cracked jokes the entire time, trying to get her to laugh or loosen up, and when he finally got her to smile, he felt the wonderful flash of accomplishment.

At least she didn't laugh when they started rehearsing in earnest and he tripped over his own feet. Multiple times. In fact, she was obviously furious.

"It's not even that  _ hard _ ," she said. She did his move, sliding smoothly from one step to the next.

Lance rolled his eyes. "Unlike you, I've never danced anything like a quickstep for a competition," he pointed out.

"Unlike you, I don't feel like including unnecessary movements," she retorted. She lowered her hand, and he grabbed it so she could help him up. "So can you please stop moving your arms so much?"

"I will try my very best," he told her, only somewhat sarcastically.

She frowned but moved into his arms without arguing and they tried that sequence again. But this time, it ended when he tripped over  _ her _ feet and he took her down with him.

Lance landed on top of Pidge, his nose colliding painfully with her collarbone, but he managed to catch his body by planting his hands on the floor – stinging from the awkward impact – next to her shoulders. He raised himself up to see her massaging her head.

He sat up, ignoring the fact that he was straddling her in favor of checking that he didn't hurt her. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Just peachy," she said, rubbing her collar. From the look on her face, she seemed stunned.

"Do you have any bumps on your head?" he said.

"I'm  _ fine _ ," she said, shoving him off her and sitting up.

"Oh, great," Lance said, finally losing his temper. "You're  _ fine _ . You're grumpy but you're  _ fine _ . You hit your head but you're  _ fine _ . It's fine though, don't tell me if you're hurt or anything, but did you ever think that maybe, just  _ maybe _ , I - your dance partner - might  _ care _ ?" He glared at her to emphasize his point.

Pidge had the grace to look sheepish. She opened her mouth to say something (Lance hoped an apology or even an explanation), but that was right when a knock came from the studio door.

It swung open, and a young man that looked remarkably like Pidge hobbled in, balancing on a pair of crutches.

Pidge jumped to her feet. "Matt!" she said. "What are you doing here? How did you get here? You got up the stairs?"

"I drove, and yes, I managed the stairs." He tapped a crutch against the floor, and Lance got a good view of the cast that encased his left leg from foot to just over his knee.

"You...drove?" Pidge eyed his leg.

"If I don't get used to it now, I won't be able to drive to work when I go back."

"Right," said Pidge, blinking. "But what are you doing here?"

Matt grinned and said, "I wanted to see your rehearsal, since you said you have a new, last-minute partner." His gaze focused on Lance, who took the opportunity to rise to his feet.

"I'm Lance," he said, offering his hand to Pidge's brother and ex-dance partner. "Nice to meet you."

Matt shook his hand, but lost one of his crutches in the process. He chuckled, expression a bit embarrassed as Pidge bent down to retrieve it.

"Nice to meet you, Lance," said Matt, taking the crutch from Pidge and positioning it back under his arm. "I'm Matt."

"Pidge has mentioned you," Lance said, side-eyeing her. They made eye contact, and Pidge was the first to look away. He wouldn't be surprised if she had their spat from earlier on her mind, but with Matt here they would have to resolve it later.

"And she's talked plenty about you." Matt grinned at him, and when Lance looked once more at Pidge, he was surprised to see her blushing in embarrassment.

"I'm sure," Lance said, smirking. "I'm an excellent topic of conversation."

"You mean gossip," Pidge retorted with her usual snark.

He grinned. "Gossip is the only worthwhile conversation," he informed her, patting her on the shoulder.

She smacked his hand away. "Only if you're small-minded," she said.

Lance didn't wince, but he hated that the comment - spoken half-jokingly, almost off-handed - hurt.

Pidge didn't seem to notice, since she turned back to her brother and said, "We don't have any chairs."

"Oh, that's okay," Matt said, though his smile was none too pleased. "I think I'll stay for the rest of your rehearsal anyway. Dad dropped you off today, right? So we can carpool home."

Pidge nodded, then returned her attention to Lance. "You ready to get back to practicing?" she asked while Matt awkwardly settled himself against the wall closest to the door. "Preferably  _ without  _ tripping?"

Lance scowled at her but retorted, "Only if you're willing to work the technique with me."

Pidge stared at him and sighed. "You're right," she admitted. "This is more my style than yours. So let's take it slowly for a little while."

"Thank you," Lance told her, genuinely grateful.

Pidge took his hand and rested hers on his shoulder. He brought his other hand to her side, and she talked him through each step. The irony that he devised most of the choreography yet she was the one criticizing his technique wasn't lost on him, and he was about to tell her so when she halted their dance.

"I'm sorry," she said without looking at him. "You're right. You asked me to trust you, and I haven't been."

"It's fine," he said dismissively. "I was just worried, since you fell." Then, a wonderful idea occurred to him, and he grinned at the woman standing in his arms. "So did it hurt?"

She put a hand to her head. "Not that--"

"When you fell from heaven?"

Pidge narrowed her eyes at him, then smiled, shaking her head slightly. "God, you're a dork, Lance." She rested her forehead against his collarbone.

"Thanks," said Lance, flushed with the victory of making her smile. "I try my best."

The rest of the rehearsal passed smoothly. They didn't argue again, and Lance finally got most of the first steps down thanks to Pidge's guidance. Soon they would be able to set it to music. But of course, when they did a run-through of the entire routine, they stumbled a few times.

But they didn't fall again.

Matt applauded them from his corner, and Lance swept him a bow. "It's really coming along, Katie," he said.

_ Katie? _ Lance mouthed at Pidge, amused. She lightly smacked his arm, her eyes daring him to call her that.

They cooled down, stretching and changing their shoes. While they did, Matt even gave them a few well-earned tips, and Lance wondered, his heart sinking as he did, if Pidge would rather be dancing with him.

"Well, it's been real," Lance said, trying to be cheerful despite the dip in his mood. He offered to help Matt up, and together he and Pidge got him to his feet.

"It was nice meeting you, Lance," Matt said, patting him on the shoulder.

Lance flashed him a grin, grabbed his bag, and left. As the door swung closed behind him, he heard Matt say, "...as bad as you said."

The barely heard words replayed in Lance's head the entire time he spent walking to the bus stop, and he scowled at his feet, heart heavy, the entire ride home.

* * *

By the next rehearsal, they actually managed to finish choreographing the entire dance, which meant they could start putting it to music. And naturally, because of Pidge's familiarity with the quickstep, choosing the music fell to her.

"I hate choosing music," Pidge grumbled under her breath.

They were taking a break, and Pidge sat on the floor with her laptop in front of her, music player open, and a water bottle in her hand. Lance stood a few yards away, looking at something on his phone.

"I would offer," Lance said without glancing up, "but I know you would complain about anything I chose."

Pidge flashed him a look, annoyed that he wasn't even paying attention, but she wouldn't argue his point because she knew he was right.

"Something fast-paced," Lance continued as if she wasn't giving him the stink-eye. "Something that  _ jives _ ."

"Something in four-four time," Pidge added, scrolling through her options.

This time she noticed Lance giving her a sideways look. "You have a musical background too, Pidge?" he asked, tone curious.

She nodded. "I played piano," she said, "and oboe in high school wind ensemble."

Lance dropped to the floor, lying down and spreading his limbs. He turned his head to better look at Pidge and grinned. "That's adorable. Dance  _ and _ music? Did you do drama too?"

Pidge grimaced. "I went to a small high school," she admitted. "They didn't do musicals, and I wasn't particularly interested in their plays." Then she smirked at him. "Also I'm not as dramatic as  _ someone _ I could name."

Lance crossed his arms and pointedly looked away from her. "It's a talent that many a ballroom judge has loved."

"Of course," Pidge said, nodding, "dancing requires a certain amount of showmanship." Another one of her and Matt's shortcomings was their  _ lack _ of such a skill.

Lance sat up and leaned against the wall near her, a smug smile curving his mouth. "Don't worry, Pidge," he said, "I'll get you to loosen up. Fear not!"

Pidge stared at him, amazed, and she hated the way heat crawled up her neck at his almost suggestive tone. She toyed with a strand of hair free from her bun and returned her attention to selecting the music.

She played each of the options she narrowed the list down to and asked Lance what he thought.

"Too slow," he said about one. Pidge deleted it from the list.

"Too long," Lance said. He scooted towards her, his head hovering over her shoulder, so he could see the computer screen.

"We can cut it," Pidge pointed out.

"And too boring," Lance then added, touching the screen.

Pidge smacked his hand away and glared at him. He retracted his arm, smiling apologetically.

When she played the next song, Lance tapped his foot against the floor. "Has promise," Lance said thoughtfully. "What else you got?"

They cycled through the next few songs, until Pidge played a song she hadn't heard in a while. And when Lance didn't shoot it down immediately, in fact simply listened to it without making any comments - something she didn't know he was even capable of - she thought they might be onto something.

"Jazzy," Lance remarked when it was done. He looked at Pidge, wearing a sly smile. "Think we've found our song?"

Pidge laughed. "Finally," she said.

"And we don't even have to edit it down much, huh?"

"Nope," Pidge agreed.

"Great," said Lance. He stood and helped her up, and when they were both on their feet he asked, "You ready to try dancing to the music?"

"It's going to be terrible," Pidge said, but she still smiled and pressed play on her laptop.

They didn't trip and fall, exactly, but they stumbled at the fast pace the music's tempo set, and it didn’t help that Pidge was delayed by 'starting' the song.

"I have an idea," Lance said as Pidge paused the music only halfway through the routine.

"What's that?" wondered Pidge, glancing at him.

Lance tapped his chin thoughtfully and said, "What if we started the routine separately and  _ then _ join a few seconds into it?"

"Like a...solo?" Pidge said skeptically.

"No, like, uh." Lance waved his hand, then said, "Hold on, I have something you can watch." He retrieved his phone from his bag.

Pidge watched him flip through his phone, presumably searching for a video. He was frowning, but rather than upset he looked contemplative and she thought she spotted the tip of his tongue poking out. It was a good look on him, soft and thoughtful, the sort of look that just might make her fall for him.

Wait, what?

Before Pidge could further consider that thought, Lance triumphantly cried, "Ah ha!" He returned to stand next to her, close enough she felt his warm breath against her forehead, and held his phone in front of them and tapped the screen to play a video.

She could tell immediately it was an old competition routine of his with his old partner, who wore a short, sequined costume that was a metallic blue. Lance himself wore something more like a suit, but the vest and tie were the same shade of blue.

The sound was turned all the way down, but it was obvious that Lance only wanted her to see the intro of the dance. The dancers started separately, performing their own simultaneous short routines before joining somewhere in the middle to partner in earnest, at which point Lance paused the video and returned it to his bag.

"So what do you think?" Lance asked. He didn't look at Pidge.

Pidge shifted her feet, disliking the sudden tension. She wondered why Lance insisted on showing her the video if he was just going to act  _ weird _ about it. "It looks...are you sure?" she said, changing her mind halfway through her sentence.

Lance finally turned to look at her, eyes sharp. "Yes, I'm sure," he said. He smiled at her, and Pidge's chest filled with warmth and relief when he did. "Besides, if you're dancing a sort of solo, it might help you loosen up."

Pidge scowled at him. "You're still on that?"

"Pidge, please," Lance practically pleaded with her. "I know the quickstep requires 'stiff posture', or whatever, but you're  _ too  _ stiff. And this will help! I promise."

Damn him, but she believed him. "All right, fine," she said. "We'll do your solo intro."

Lance clapped his hands, smiling gleefully. "Great! Now here's what we should do..."

They spent the rest of their designated time in the rehearsal space expanding their routine, helping each other choreograph the other's steps. While Pidge danced through her part for the third time, Lance rested a hand on the small of her back.

"Honestly, Pidge, if you were any stiffer I would think you were a dead body."

Pidge forced herself to relax, just a little, but it was hard with Lance's hand burning a hole through her shirt. She wanted to swat it away, but that might’ve raise questions she wasn't ready to contemplate.

Lance retracted his hold on her and she managed to dance through the new solo portion of the routine without him making a comment on her rigidity. Then she chugged from her water bottle while watching him run through his. She smiled when she saw that he actually looked like he was having fun, a wide grin on his face while he glided through the steps.

"Good?" he said, looking at her once he was done.

"Good," she agreed. She put down her water bottle and they started from the beginning of the new part. Dancing at opposite ends of the floor as they migrated towards each other in the middle, then side by side, then into each others' arms for the majority of the dance.

To Pidge it felt different this time, more charged. For the first time, she wished she could properly look into his eyes while they were dancing and cursed her height. Lance was as warm and energetic as usual, and they only stumbled a few times, usually with him smiling apologetically down at her. Lance hummed the tune of the song while they went, and Pidge whispered the words. They did briefly make eye contact while he guided her through a spin, and she exchanged a grin with him.

At the end, they parted through their giggles.

"Why are we laughing?" she asked him, breathless with the exertion of dancing as well as laughter.

"I have no idea!" said Lance. He fanned himself with his shirt, and Pidge averted her eyes at a glimpse of his flat stomach.

After that they packed up, Pidge exchanging high heels for her high tops and Lance exchanging his square-toed dancing shoes for sneakers.

"I will never understand how you dance in those," Lance observed as Pidge idly rubbed her shins.

"Neither will I," Pidge admitted, smiling sheepishly. She hated wearing high heels more when she first started dancing, but since then she'd mostly gotten used to them. Mostly. Her feet and ankles ached a little at the moment.

Lance helped her to her feet, like usual, and she led the way to the door and down the stairs.

At first, when they were standing on the sidewalk outside the building, Pidge thought they were going their separate ways like they did for the last few nights, but then Lance grabbed her hand.

"Uh?" Pidge said stupidly, staring at where Lance's sizable hand completely engulfed hers.

"Hey, how about some bonding?" he asked.

"Bonding?"

"Yeah," said Lance. "I'm going to see a movie with Hunk; you want to join?"

Pidge stared at him and wondered why he hadn't let go of her hand yet, and why she didn't want him to. "Why?" she said.

"Well, bonding," Lance repeated like it was the most obvious thing in the world. His smile dropped slightly though, confidence faltering, even as he added, "You know, like a team?"

_ A team. _ The words reverberated familiarly in her mind, as if they’d been in this exact situation before, and she smiled. "Sure," she agreed. "What movie?"

* * *

It turned out it was a superhero movie she'd seen a couple weeks ago with Matt, but she didn't mention that when she and Lance met up with Hunk outside the cinema.

"Hi Pidge!" Hunk greeted her cheerfully, but the smile he flashed was surprised.

Pidge waved, but she shot Lance a glance out of the corner of her eye, wondering if she was crashing something.

If Lance noticed the look she was giving him, he ignored it in favor of hugging Hunk. "I feel like I haven't seen you in days, man," Lance told him.

"Oh, you know how it is," Hunk said. "Work and stuff, even if it  _ is _ break. Oh, which reminds me." He looked from Lance to Pidge. "How is the rehearsing going?" Something sly colored his smile when he added, "You guys getting along?"

Pidge felt her face heating, and it took all her willpower not to look away.

Lance, however, seemed entirely oblivious as he replied, "Yeah, it's really great!"

"We're doing better than I expected," Pidge admitted.

At that moment they handed their tickets to the usher and he pointed them to their theater. Lance and Hunk bought a large popcorn to share, but Pidge contented herself with a blue raspberry Icee.

"You sure you don't want any popcorn to go with your liquid diabetes, Pidge?" Lance quipped once the three of them were settled in their seats with him in the middle.

"You sure you don't want an Icee to go with your edible hypertension, Lance?" Pidge retorted, pointedly slurping her drink as she looked at Lance.

Hunk laughed and said, "For dancers, you're both making questionable dietary choices."

"It's the dancing that allows me to  _ make _ those choices, Hunk," Lance pointed out. He stuffed a handful of popcorn in his mouth, enough that two kernels slipped out from between his lips, and Pidge couldn't help but be endeared at the sight.

(What was wrong with her?)

Hunk glanced at her over Lance's head and smiled. Pidge looked back, her eyes wide, and when Hunk's grin widened, she  _ knew _ that Hunk knew.

Damn him. Damn them both.

Pidge looked pointedly away, pretending to be engaged in the pre-trailers commercials. And then when the trailers started, she was treated to the sound of Lance elbowing Hunk and saying, "I want to see that."

During the actual movie, no one reacted more dramatically than Lance. When anything humorous happened, no one laughed louder, and he glanced at both Pidge and Hunk to make sure they were just as amused as he was. When something unexpected happened, he gasped, and during tense scenes, he clutched either Hunk's or Pidge's arm.

The whole spectacle was just as entertaining as the movie.

What was _ not _ as entertaining though was the way Lance made snide remarks under his breath to them in reaction to what the characters did or said.

"Oh, that is  _ not _ good," he whispered through a revelation.

"Ask her out, you fool," he goaded the hero during one romantically charged scene.

"That's a really lame pun," he said after pointing out a t-shirt that one of the characters wore.

"Lance, would you shut up?" Pidge asked him after the fifth or so time of this in just the first half-hour of the movie.

Lance turned to look at her, smirking; he flashed her a wink. "You're getting the Lance date treatment," he said. "Enjoy it while it lasts, Pidge."

_ The Lance date treatment? _

Pidge spent the rest of the movie grateful that she saw it before, as she analyzed Lance's almost throwaway words.

A superhero movie was a hell of time to finally come to terms with the fact that she just  _ might’ve _ had a huge crush on her new dance partner.

_ God dammit. _

After the movie, and after they'd all thrown their trash away - but not before Lance stole away the last bit of her Icee - they walked around the mall. Lance and Hunk discussed the movie, but Pidge, lost in thought, checked her phone.

She had a few text messages from her parents and from Matt, inquiring where she was, as well as a missed call and voicemail from her mother. Guiltily since she forgot to mention she wasn't coming home immediately after rehearsal, she texted her mother to tell her where she was.

_ At movies with friends. Be home soon. _

Her mother's reply was quick and annoyed,  _ Please let us know next time. Do you need a ride? _

Pidge looked up, to where Lance and Hunk walked a few steps ahead of her. She thought Hunk had a car and wasn't too shy to request a ride from him, so she responded to her mother in the negative.

_ Who are you with?  _ she got back.

Pidge smiled ruefully to herself. Mothers.  _ Lance, my new dance partner. And Hunk _ .

They knew Hunk, they'd met him and liked him. He and her father even talked shop before. But Lance, on the other hand...

_ When will we get to meet your partner? _

Pidge sighed at the screen. For all intents and purposes, a ballroom dance partnership was a fairly intimate relationship, which was why before, she couldn't imagine herself dancing with anyone other than Matt, not including the partner she had in high school. But Lance meeting her parents - especially when she remembered her revelation from earlier - seemed like a step she was not ready to make.

It didn't help that a part of her knew their relationship was temporary. Matt's leg wouldn't be broken forever.

Still, Pidge made a decision and messaged,  _ I'll talk to him and see when he's free this week. _

So lost in thought and in responding to her mother was Pidge that she almost collided into Hunk's broad back. She pulled herself up short beside him, right in time to hear Lance say, "Oh, hey Nyma."

_ Nyma?  _ The name was familiar to Pidge, but she wasn't sure why, at least not until she saw the tall young woman standing a few feet away.

Lance's old partner.

Pidge looked at him. He was smiling, but she could tell there was something strained in it, like this was a meeting he dreaded and now that it was here he didn't know how to react.

"Hi Lance," Nyma responded, flashing her own grin.

Pidge disliked her on sight, and though there was something hot and angry burning in her gut, it was not jealousy. No, she hated the way Lance's cheer and confidence wilted with just the sight of her. Even though he smiled, even though he still looked Nyma in the eye, Pidge could tell from the droop in his shoulders and the way he stuffed his hands in his pockets that he would rather be anywhere else but here.

"How've you been?" Nyma asked.

"Great," said Lance. "And you?"

God, this was awkward. Pidge looked at Hunk, who, she was relieved to see, was standing close to Lance, hovering protectively.

"Fantastic," said Nyma. "I got a new job, so I've been too busy to catch up."

"Congratulations," said Lance, and it sounded hollow to Pidge's ears.

"Hey, Lance," Pidge said, interrupting. "You want to go get ice cream? I'll buy."

"Oh," said Lance, glancing at her. She was not sure if it was her hopeful imagination or not, but his eyes brightened as they fell on her. "Nyma, you know Hunk, right?"

Nyma's smile gained an edge as she looked at Hunk, who kept his face carefully neutral; there was obviously no love lost between them. "Yep, for sure," she said.

"Anyway," said Lance, his hand resting lightly on Pidge's shoulder, "this is Pidge, my partner."

Pidge was not the best at reading people, but she knew the power of a missing word thanks to all the reading she'd done, and she knew that Lance not saying that she was his  _ new  _ partner was deliberate.

"Pidge, this is Nyma, my ex-partner."

As if she hadn't already guessed as much for herself, she offered Nyma her hand. "Nice to meet you," she said.

"Likewise," said Nyma, taking her hand and shaking it. She had a firm grip, though Pidge had never bought into the mindset that a strong handshake meant a good first impression.

Pidge didn't need this meeting to have a poor impression of her.

"Anyway," Lance said again, "it was nice seeing you, Nyma." He grabbed Pidge's arm and tugged her away before anyone else could say anything.

Hunk followed, looking eager to be away. "That was awkward," he observed.

"Sure was," said Pidge.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that," said Lance. His hands returned to his pockets.

Pidge latched onto his arm, forcing him to look at her. "Why?" she asked. "It's not your fault fate decided to screw with you today."

"Fate screw...with me?" Lance said, raising an amused eyebrow at her.

"Yeah," Hunk agreed, wrapping an arm around Lance's shoulder. "You're too good for her anyway. Besides, you have Pidge now!"

It took all of Pidge's self-control not to flinch, because if she didn't know any better, she suspected that Lance had a thing for Nyma. Perhaps he still did.

She hated how much that thought made her chest ache.

"Right, you have me now," Pidge said, hoping she hadn't paused for too long.

Lance looked between the two of them, and he finally took a hand out of his pocket to pull her into a one-armed hug. "I do, don't I?" He smiled softly at her.

Pidge blushed. Lividly. She was glad it was dark now.

Hunk snickered, and the three of them walked to the parking lot in a unit, tangled in each others' arms. No more mention was made of Nyma.

Pidge begged a ride off of Hunk, and he obliged easily. "I owe you, dude," she told him when he pulled up in front of her family's house.

"Nah, it's nothing," he said, waving a dismissive hand.

Pidge grabbed her bag and opened the door, but before she left she squeezed Lance's shoulder. "See you tomorrow?" she asked.

"Count on it," Lance said, grinning.

Pidge waved once she was on the sidewalk, and Hunk lingered on the street until she was inside, apologizing profusely to her parents for not calling them sooner. By the time she'd taken a shower and changed into her pajamas, she had a text from Hunk:

_ Seriously, it's enough you're doing this for Lance. _

She replied:   _ You're a good friend, Hunk. Anyway I'm not just doing this for him; I'm doing this for me too. _

And it was true, she thought. At the beginning of the week she wanted to win, to accept the challenge presented by the competition, but now she wanted to win with  _ Lance _ . And though dancing with Lance was a challenge that dancing with Matt never was, she actually liked it.

She liked  _ him _ .

The thought both thrilled and scared her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering what the song they're dancing to is, worry not!! I promise I'll link it in the last chapter, since that's when it's most relevant. Ditto the video I watched to get inspiration for their actual routine
> 
> I made Colleen Holt like my mother lmao
> 
> Also a cookie (or a drabble, even) to the first person to guess what movie they were watching.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter...the rivals (DUN DUN DUUUUUN)
> 
> Also, clothes
> 
> (Yes, I do take these summaries very seriously)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some Keith/Allura in this chapter, but vague enough to be viewed as platonic if you prefer. Whatever floats your boat (or ship lmao)
> 
> Per the usual, especial thanks to my wonderful beta [bouquet-roserade](http://bouquet-roserade.tumblr.com/)

Two days later and Lance still had Matt's comment to Pidge ringing in his head.

_ "...as bad as you said." _

A more positive voice in Lance's head though insisted that he was imagining Pidge's disdain, that she seemed to enjoy dancing with him, that she had fun with him and Hunk last night.

Lance smiled when he thought about  _ most _ of last night. Despite her initial reluctance, Pidge relaxed around him and Hunk. Even... _ loosened up _ . He chuckled at his own joke, turning around to greet Pidge as she walked through the studio door.

"Hey," she said, grinning. She dropped her bag just inside the door and toed off her shoes. When she started stretching, sitting on the floor and reaching for a foot, she asked, "You been here long?"

Lance, already done with his own stretches and ready to warm up, replied, "Only about fifteen minutes. I got here a little early today." He watched her stretch, forcing himself to avert his eyes when her shirt rode up and he caught a glimpse of her lower back. "Just that eager to see you," he added, making her roll her eyes.

But he was! Lance liked dancing with Pidge, liked the way his chest filled with a pleasant warmth when she smiled at him, liked how they grinned at each other in triumph when one or the other got a particularly complex step right for the first time. Lance liked--

He cut the thought off in the middle. He might enjoy the dance with Pidge, but he couldn't help but wonder how long it would last. Her brother would want to start dancing again once he healed up, right? Or worse:  what if Pidge just stopped  _ wanting _ to dance with Lance like Nyma did?

So lost in gloomy thoughts was Lance that he didn't notice Pidge standing and setting up her laptop. "You ready to dance with music today?" she asked without looking up at him. "We have a lot of ground to cover before Saturday."

"Please, Pidge," Lance said, scoffing at her. "In a few days, I'll be able to dance this routine in my sleep. Hell, I've already started sleep-rehearsing it."

She rolled her eyes at him again, but a smile made it through. "Sure," she said. "I'd  _ love _ to see you sleep-dancing."

For some reason, that remark made him blush.

Lance cleared his throat and got in position to start their individual intros. Pidge started the music and they danced.

Their first stumbling block this rehearsal was when they met in the middle. Lance overthought the motion and reached for her too early, almost punching her in the face. She jumped back to overcompensate and they ended up falling behind a few measures.

"Okay, let's start again," suggested Pidge while Lance apologized. She replayed the song from the beginning.

This time they only got about a minute into the routine when Lance stumbled through a turn, causing them to be off-beat.

The mistakes were minor, and Pidge committed almost as many as Lance, which didn't relieve him in the way it once might've. But they accumulated to the point that by the time they ran through the routine a single time, Pidge was snappy and stiff and Lance had to restrain himself from making a rude retort to every one of her comments.

It came to a boiling point when Lance screwed up a step he never had before and Pidge demanded, "Why are you so  _ clumsy _ today?"

"You know what, Pidge?" Lance said, dropping her hand and stepping away from her. "I'm going for a walk."

"In the middle of rehearsal?"

"Yes," Lance said, pinching his eyes shut and deliberately breathing through his nose. "Because if I don't, one of us is going to say something that will hurt the other's feelings." He stormed out before she could react, the studio door shutting behind him with an unsatisfactorily soft click. He walked down the stairs and outside, and at the feeling of the chilly winter air he realized he forgot his jacket.

But instead of going back, he crossed his arms and shivered against the wind.

He heard soft footsteps behind him and turned to see Pidge. Her nose was already red with the cold, and her brow was furrowed in obvious irritation, but she held his jacket out to him.

Lance accepted it without a word, his own annoyed expression not relaxing, and Pidge retreated back into the studio. A part of him knew he should follow her back inside, apologize for ditching during rehearsal when the competition was only a few days away. But the rest of him - the part that hadn't grown up yet - needed Pidge to apologize for her rudeness first.

Bitterly, Lance wondered if this would've happened if he still danced with Nyma. It wouldn't have, he thought, but somehow that made him feel worse.

No, Nyma would've been sweet to his face, and any irritation she felt towards him he would've experienced in different ways.  _ Deliberate _ mistakes on her part. 'Forgetting' to tell him she had to miss rehearsal. Refusing to speak to him at all if they missed their competition goal by just a few points. Teasing him into thinking she might return his feelings.

Feelings that faded a while ago, Lance now realized. When he saw her the night before, he hadn't felt much in the way of  _ romance  _ or even attraction. Instead, he looked at her and saw someone he should've shaken himself free of months ago.

At least Pidge told him to his face when he screwed up. Which had been a lot, lately. It was a frustrating thought, considering how hard he worked and how much he wanted to win. How much he wanted to win with  _ Pidge _ . He scowled at his feet, then looked up at a cafe; he’d walked almost two blocks without realizing it. He made a quick decision and shoved his way inside, glad he kept his wallet in his jacket pocket.

Ten minutes later, he climbed the stairs to the studio and had to knock on the door lest he spill the hot chocolate he held in his hands. Pidge opened it, her nose scrunched in confusion as she laid eyes on the cups he held.

"A peace offering," he said, raising one as he gave her the other.

"Uh, thanks," she said, hesitantly sniffing at it.

"It's just hot chocolate," he told her, sipping at his own. "I don't know how you take your coffee." It was something he would like to know, though.

She drank, then looked at him over the top of the cup. "There's cinnamon in this," she said.

"You're not allergic, are you?" he asked, worried.

Pidge shook her head and drank again. He was not sure since she turned her body away from him, but he thought he saw her smile. Then, she did something he didn't expect.

"I'm sorry." Lance stared at the back of her head, stunned, but before he could reply she continued, "I think meeting your old partner last night rattled me. And, well, I've come to realize that..." She glanced over her shoulder at him, her face red. "Maybe we're not as compatible as we thought. I mean, I'm so short compared to you that--"

"Hey, that's not true, Pidge." Lance put his cup down, far enough away that they wouldn't knock it down accidentally. He put his hands on Pidge's shoulders and turned her so that she faced him. "Look, we're doing great together, right? I mean, we've done so much in just a few days! Even Keith can't adjust to a new partner that quickly!"

Pidge smiled, her free hand touching his wrist.

"Anyway, I'm sorry too," he said. "Leaving like that was pretty childish of me."

"It's fine," she said, shrugging. "You're allowed to be childish sometimes."

"Not like that." Lance shrugged, and offered her a smile of his own.

Pidge put her cup down beside his, then, to his surprise, wrapped him in a hug that was amazingly strong for someone of her size. Lance didn't hesitate to wind his arms around her shoulders, his hand carding through her hair. She fit snugly against him, the crown of her head underneath his chin, in a different way than she did when they were dancing, though no less pleasant...no less  _ comfortable. _

"I like dancing with you, Pidge," he admitted. "I don't care that you're really short."

"Okay, rude." Pidge let go of him and disentangled herself from his arms, smacking him in the chest as she went.

"I'm just making up for everything you said earlier," he quipped, crossing his arms.

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him. "You want me to empty my hot chocolate on your head?"

Lance laughed, but raised his hands defensively. "Alternatively, we can get back to rehearsing."

"Right," Pidge said, nodding. "We're almost out of time."

Once she made sure her computer was far away from their drinks, Pidge once more played the music. As they ran through the entire routine - not as smoothly as they needed it to be but  _ much _ better than it was earlier - Lance did his best to push Matt's words - the ones he was dwelling on earlier and that messed him up - from his head. And he was successful. Mostly.

After the song ended, they paused, letting their arms fall but still facing each other. "We'll be okay," Pidge told him, smiling.

"Better than okay, I hope," Lance retorted, grinning back.

"Oh, are we...early?" a familiar voice asked.

Lance spun around to see Keith - his  _ nemesis _ \- and Allura standing in the studio doorway. He scowled, his mood curdling slightly.

Allura was the one who spoke. She walked in ahead of Keith, a pink duffel bag slung across her shoulders, and waved. "Hello, Lance," she greeted him with a smile.

"Hello, Allura," Lance replied, bobbing a curtsy.

Allura rolled her eyes but her smile didn't drop, and he heard the click of Pidge's heels on the floor as she approached the newcomers.

"Hey Keith!" Pidge said, sounding way too cheerful for someone greeting their rivals.

"Hey Pidge," Keith responded, shooting her a smile after nodding at Lance.

Lance was confused. How did they know each other?

"How do you know each other?" Lance asked, pointing from Pidge to Keith.

"We went to the same high school," Pidge told him.

"Her brother is friends with Shiro," Keith added.

Ah yes, Shiro. The most famous dance instructor in the area, whose lessons were so popular that you had to book them at least a year in advance. Lance would've loved to meet him.

Pidge continued, "We were also--"

"Wait," Lance interrupted, spinning around to stare at his partner. "You know  _ Shiro _ ?"

"Yes?" Pidge said, shrugging.

"And you never  _ told me _ ?"

Pidge frowned. "I didn't think it was important," she told him. "He's friends with Matt; he's the reason he and I got into ballroom dancing in the first place."

"I trusted you!" Lance accused. He knew he was being melodramatic, but he still felt just a bit cheated.

"I'm sorry?" She didn't sound sorry; in fact, she only looked confused, her nose wrinkling adorably again.

"Lance, you're being ridiculous," Keith said, throwing up his arms.

Allura wisely chose that moment to interrupt the budding three-way argument by stepping in the middle of it. She turned to Pidge and said, "My name is Allura. I'm Keith's partner." She offered her hand to Pidge.

To her credit, Pidge only looked momentarily stunned in the face of a beautiful, and tactful, woman like Allura. "I'm Pidge, Lance's partner. For now." She shot him a threatening look over Allura's shoulder while she accepted her hand.

Lance rolled his eyes at her.

"It's very nice to meet you, Pidge," said Allura, smiling as she shook Pidge's hand.

"And you too, Allura," Pidge said.

"Tell me, Pidge," said Allura, pointing at the other's shoes, "how do you keep those in such good condition? I've always struggled with mine."

"Oh, well that's easy..." The two women trailed off into shop talk, leaving Lance and Keith alone, an argument successfully diffused.

Which meant Lance could get in some pre-competition boasting.

"You'd better hold onto your socks on Saturday," he told Keith, smirking as he clapped him on the shoulder.

"And why's that, Lance?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because Pidge and I are gonna knock them off," Lance pronounced dramatically.

To his surprise, Keith laughed. "I look forward to it."

* * *

Outside, they didn't talk about Keith and Allura. Instead, Pidge immediately steered the conversation towards something she'd been stewing over since the moment they became serious about competing together.

"Do you have a costume for the routine?" she asked Lance.

His face did something that, in any other circumstance, might've been funny. His lips turned up in a confused smile, then an eyebrow rose in surprise, followed by a frown of dread. "Shoot, I totally forgot about costumes," he admitted, slumping.

"Oh boy," said Pidge.

"I'm guessing you already have something?" Lance wondered. "You seem too efficient not to."

Pidge didn't accept his comment as a compliment so much as an observation. "A week wouldn't be long enough to arrange a dress anyway," she said, shrugging. "I'd planned to use what I would've worn if I was still waltzing with Matt."

"Maybe I can wear your brother's costume then?" Lance suggested.

Pidge appraised Lance, or rather his body. Her gaze was strictly - strictly! - clinical as she looked him up and down. "No," she said without much hesitation.

"Why not?" Lance asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"You've met my brother," Pidge pointed out.

"Yeah...?"

"You're too tall," she said, gesturing at all of him. "And your shoulders are too wide."

Lance stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and slumped. "I never thought that was a bad thing," he said.

"It's not," Pidge said before she could stop herself. "We'll just have to improvise."

"Wait a minute..." said Lance, an impish grin on his face. "Pidge, do you think I'm attractive?"

Pidge turned away from him under the pretense of walking to her car. "Objectively speaking," she admitted, though that was only half the truth. At this point, her feelings for Lance were far from  _ objective _ .

"Whatever, I guess I'll take that as a compliment. As for the improvisation...what do you mean?"

She returned her attention to him, contemplating. "You and Keith are about the same--"

"No," Lance shot down immediately.

Pidge frowned at him. "Seriously? You won't even hear me out?"

"Nope!"

Pidge grumbled, "Unbelievable."

"Maybe after we beat him," Lance conceded. "Anyway, I have some stuff at home. You want to come and see what I've got?"

Pidge eyed him suspiciously. She was not sure she wanted to go home with him, even if for a completely innocent reason like picking out a costume. But then she found herself agreeing, at least until she remembered a promise she made to her mother the night before.

"All right, but first, what would you say to dinner with my family tonight?"

Lance stared at her for a minute, jaw slack with shock, then he shook himself and said, "Sure, sounds good."

"Wait, really?" Pidge said.

Lance shrugged. "It's only fair, isn't it?" he asked. "You met the person  _ I _ live with, now I meet the people  _ you _ live with."

"I already knew Hunk," Pidge pointed out reasonably.

"So?" Lance said, raising an eyebrow at her. He looked entirely too amused. "The principle still applies; you just beat me to the chase."

"Okay, fine," Pidge said, flinging up her arms. "We'll go to your apartment and figure out a costume for you, then we'll drive to my house."

"Glad we're in agreement," Lance said cheerfully, already leading the way to the parking lot.

He didn't see Pidge's flush, even as she jogged to catch up with him.

"I should've known," Lance said, shooting her a teasing smirk when their eyes fall on her car. "You drive a  _ Mini Cooper _ ."

Pidge refused to look at him. Instead, she opened the trunk and tossed her bag in and motioned for him to do the same. "It's not mine," she told him. "It's my brother's. I borrow it sometimes when he's not at work."

"Still," said Lance. "That's  _ adorable _ ."

"I hope you bump your head on the low ceiling," Pidge hissed.

He didn't, and she decided the universe must hate her when he folded his long limbs quite easily into the passenger seat.

Lance directed her to his apartment building, and, naturally, criticized her driving. "How did you get a license, Pidge?" he demanded after she almost veered out of her lane,  _ again _ .

"Just like everyone else," she retorted once she parked in the free space a block away from his and Hunk's shared apartment. "By pretending I was actually any good."

Lance laughed and stepped out of the car. Pidge followed and unlocked the trunk so he could retrieve his bag from it. After she locked the doors, she followed him down the sidewalk and up a set of stairs.

"Hunk may or may not be home," Lance told her as he opened the front door. "Buddy? You home?"

"Yeah?" said Hunk, his head appearing over the breakfast bar separating the living space from the kitchen.

"Oh, hey, no work today?" Lance asked. He locked the front door again as he spoke, giving Pidge a chance to take off her shoes.

"It's my day off," said Hunk. He smiled when he saw Pidge. "Hi Pidge. How're you?"

"Lance insulted my driving," she complained.

"It's terrible!" Lance retorted. "I was holding onto my seat belt the entire time!"

"It is pretty bad," Hunk conceded.

"Not you too!" Pidge said, shaking her fist at Hunk.

He only laughed, but then asked, "You want anything to drink, Pidge?"

"No thank you," she said. "We're only here to figure out Lance's costume for Saturday."

Hunk made an 'o' with his mouth. "You don't have long, huh?"

"Nope," said Lance.

"Guess I'll leave you to it, then," said Hunk, smirking. "But you should probably leave the door open."

Pidge blinked at him, at least until she understood what he was implying, which made her face heat up.

"Please, Hunk, if I  _ wanted _ to 'bring Pidge home'," Lance retorted, "I would've been a lot smoother than  _ come help me pick a costume for the competition _ ." He laughed, and looked at Pidge, gaze expectant as if he hoped she'd join in on his joke.

Pidge forced a smile to cover her embarrassment and hurt.

Lance seemed to notice she was faking it though, for he abruptly stopped laughing. "Anyway, let's go Pidge," he said, grabbing her hand and leading her down the short hall to the last door. He pushed it open and waved her inside.

It was a pretty small, standard space, with a double bed pushed against one wall underneath a window, a desk in the corner, a bookshelf opposite, and a dresser taking up much of the space remaining. There were clothes flung on the bed, and the desk was covered with clutter, as well as a couple movie posters on the walls. At least the little bit of floor was clear. "Welcome to my space," said Lance, gesturing grandly. "Mi casa es tu casa, as they say."

"Then let's get to work," said Pidge. "But do you mind if I call my mom first? I need to let her know you're coming tonight too."

"Sure, sure," said Lance, waving her towards the hallway as he opened his closet door. "I'll look through my stuff and see if I can come up with something without your much appreciated assistance."

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him, but couldn't help a soft smile once his back was turned. She walked out into the hall and called her mother.

"Hi Mom," she said.

"Hey Katie," said her mother. "You on your way home yet?"

"Um, actually..." How did one tell their mother that they were at a man's apartment? A man that they happened to have a crush on? "I'm at Lance's." Before she could scold her or worse, Pidge added, "We completely forgot to design a costume for him for the competition, so I'm helping him look through what he has to come up with something last-minute."

"All right..." her mother said, her tone considering. "Will this take long?"

"I don't expect it to," Pidge admitted, "but I had a question."

"Okay?"

"You said you wanted to meet him, right? Do you mind if I bring him for dinner tonight?"

She leaned against the wall opposite Lance's door while she asked, smiling when she heard Lance mumbling the lyrics to the song from their routine.

"Sure, I would love that!" her mother said, surprisingly enthusiastic. "Do you know if he's allergic to anything?"

It wasn't the response she expected; Pidge was grownup enough to admit to herself that she wished her mother had refused, at least for the time being. Still, she walked back into Lance's room, barely eyeing the pile of clothes accumulating on his bed, and asked, "Are you allergic to anything?"

"Nope," Lance said without turning away from rifling in his closet.

"He said no," she told her mother.

"Great," she said. "When should I expect you?"

"I don't know," Pidge admitted, "but I'll want to shower before dinner when I come home anyway."

"With a guest in the house?" her mother asked, borderline disapproving.

"It'll be fine," Pidge said. "He won't care."

"That's not really the point."

"Hey, Pidge," said Lance, "what do you think of  _ this _ ?" He held up a gaudy blue suit for her inspection.

Pidge had to shield her eyes from the light reflecting off the fabric. "Mom, I'll call you when we're on our way," she said.

"Please do," she said. "Be safe. Love you!"

"Love you too." Pidge hung up and gaped at Lance. "First of all, what the  _ hell _ gave you the impression that you can wear  _ that _ ?"

Lance waggled his eyebrows at her. "I'm just teasing, Pidge. I know you prefer  _ muted _ colors."

Pidge remembered her dress at home. "Do you have anything green?" she wondered.

"Hmm." Lance flipped through the clothes on his bed. "Nope. I have every color of the rainbow  _ but _ green."

"Oh, great."

Lance looked up at her. "Your dress green?" When Pidge nodded, he returned his attention to his clothes. "Any other color? And what do you think complements it?"

Pidge shrugged and admitted, "Matt is better at this sort of thing than I am."

"Then we'll ask his opinion when we're at your house," he said cheerfully. "Anyway, you mentioned a shower when you were talking to your mom, and that sounded like a really good idea." He pried his still sweat-damp shirt off his chest, affording Pidge an unfortunate glimpse of his collarbone. "You don't mind waiting, do you? We can leave when I'm done."

"I mean, Hunk's here," Pidge pointed out.

"Yeah, Hunk can keep you company!" Lance said.

Bemused, Pidge watched Lance extract a pair of jeans from the clothes in a heap on his bed. She left him to it and returned to the living space to see Hunk settled into an armchair with a computer in his lap and a steaming mug at his elbow.

"Hi Hunk," said Pidge.

Hunk looked up at her and smiled. "Leaving already?" he asked.

"No, I'm just waiting for Lance to take a shower then he's going home with me."

Hunk's smile turned devious. "Oh really?"

Pidge frantically waved her hands. "Not like that!"

"Then how?"

Pidge sat on the edge of the sofa, hands in her lap. "My parents want to meet him since we're dancing together, so I'm bringing him to dinner."

Hunk laughed. "You know, Pidge, that's a lot more suggestive than whatever you think  _ I _ implied."

"What I  _ think _ you implied?"

"You can't prove anything," Hunk pointed out.

Pidge groaned and rubbed her face. Between the newfound realization of her feelings, their quarrel earlier, and  _ this _ , she’d had an emotionally compromising day.

"You might be here a while," Hunk then warned her.

"He take that long to shower?" Pidge asked.

"No, his showers are pretty standard in length," Hunk said, typing away at something on his laptop. "It's his post-shower routine that takes time."

"Why?" Pidge said, not sure she wanted an answer.

"You'll see," Hunk told her. "He'll come out smelling like shampoo and cologne and you'll want to stick your head in a toilet just to get rid of it." He glanced sideways at her and smirked. "Unless you like his smell."

Pidge brought her knees up to her face just so she could bury it in them. Hunk only laughed.

They lapsed into silence, broken only by the sound of Hunk's typing. And sure enough, Lance took longer than any sane human being should, but when he emerged he looked, well,  _ clean _ .

Which was an understatement. Pidge already thought Lance was attractive, but now that he was wearing jeans and a sweater rather than the sweats and t-shirt he wore for rehearsal, the effect was much different.

"Ready to go?" Lance asked. He put on his jacket - the same olive green one he always wore.

"Sure am," said Pidge, standing and shoving her feet into her shoes.

Lance came to stand behind her, his shoes already on, and she got a strong whiff of him, just like Hunk warned.

"Does your shampoo smell like  _ pineapple _ ?" she demanded before she could stop herself.

"What?" Lance retorted, raising an eyebrow at her and smirking. "Do you not like pineapple, Pidge?"

"I have nothing against it," she said.

Lance didn't say anything to that; instead he just opened the door. "See you later, Hunk," he said over his shoulder. "Don't wait up for me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Hunk teased, “since you’ll probably need me to give you a ride.”

Lance laughed, and Pidge - poor, poor Pidge - cursed the sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, Coran isn't in this fic (an oversight on my part), but I imagine that in this universe he's a dance teacher. Specifically, he probably taught Lance (and Allura). He's not a judge at the competition in the last chapter though because that would be unethical considering Allura, his former protege, is definitely one of the favorites to win regardless of his presence ;)
> 
> And the fic is half over. Thank you for reading thus far!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My children demonstrate why good communication is Important
> 
> Also, Pidge is a geek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So!! Thank you for all the wonderful feedback!! Seriously
> 
> And thank you, [bouquet-roserade](http://bouquet-roserade.tumblr.com/), for the beta!!

Pidge was quiet for most of the short car ride to her house, only breaking the silence when her road rage had her mumbling curses under her breath. To Lance, she seemed on edge for some reason, and the tension made him uncomfortable. So he turned up the radio - NPR, shockingly - hoping to at least get a rise out of Pidge.

She glared sideways at him. "Touching my stuff, Lance?" she demanded.

"Please," Lance scoffed, gesturing at himself. "After I leave, your car will be filled with that smell of pineapples you love so much, so what does it matter if I mess with the radio?"

Pidge's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "All the hot air in your head can fill a zeppelin," she retorted.

Lance laughed, because though it hurt for her to think he was arrogant, he knew that she tended more towards rudeness when she was anxious or upset about something.

Which meant she was anxious or upset about something now.

"You all right, Pidge?" he asked, turning off the radio as he glanced sideways at her.

She didn't reply, and he resigned himself to spending the rest of the ride in awkward silence until they parked in the driveway of a small two-story house in a picturesque suburb, at which point she unbuckled her seat belt and said, "I'm just nervous."

"Why?" said Lance.

Pidge's gaze was fixed on her hands in her lap. "I want my family to like you, and I want you to like them."

"Hey," said Lance, ignoring the way his face heated up at the almost nonchalant confession, "if you came from them, they can't be too bad."

Pidge smiled softly and finally looked up. "Flattery will get you nowhere with me or with them, Lance."

"Great, you figured out my strategy, guess you should take me back home now." But he put the lie in his words by unbuckling his seat belt and opening the car door. 

After Pidge retrieved her bag from the trunk, she led the way along a narrow stone walkway to the small porch. She unlocked the door and pushed it open, calling, "Mom? I'm home!"

A woman with gray streaks in her brown hair poked her head around the corner of the hall. "Katie," she greeted with a smile, approaching and hugging Pidge. Then her eyes fell on Lance and she offered him her hand. "I'm Colleen Holt," she said.

Lance's stomach churned, nervous, as he accepted her hand and shook it. "I'm Lance," he said. "You must be Pidge's mother." He was tempted to say  _ Pidge's sister _ , but somehow he knew that even  _ good-natured _ teasing would get him nowhere here.

_ "...as bad as you said." _

Lance hated how insistent those words were.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Lance," she said.

"Mom, I'm going to take a shower," Pidge said, hefting her bag a little higher and nodding her head towards the stairs.

"Okay, Dad and I will entertain Lance while you're gone," Colleen reassured her daughter.

Pidge smiled nervously, then her eyes narrowed as they landed on Lance and he read the warning in her eyes, the implicit  _ be on your best behavior _ .

Lance smirked at her, hoping it was reassuring. Moms loved him! How bad could this be?

"Do you need any help with dinner?" Lance wondered, hoping to dispel some of the discomfort he now felt at Pidge's departure.

Colleen contemplated him for a minute. "Do you know how to make a salad?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"Excellent," she said, leading him into a kitchen that would make Hunk salivate with envy.

"Sam," Colleen said to a man stirring something at the stove.

"Huh?" said the man. He turned around, his eyes falling on Lance, and grinned widely. "You must be Lance, Katie's new dance partner."

Lance  _ really _ needed to hear the story behind the name 'Pidge'. "Yep, that's me," he said, smiling.

"I'm Sam, her and Matt's dad," said Sam, and they shook hands. "You've already met Matt, right?"

_ Met Matt. _ Lance bit back a laugh, but smiled when he said, "Yeah, he was nice."

_ "...as bad as you said." _

Lance pinched his thigh, as if that would help him focus on wooing Pidge's parents rather than on Matt's throwaway, overheard comment.

Colleen set him up with a chopping knife, a cutting board, and a wooden salad bowl, along with a metal strainer full of vegetables. Lance chopped lettuce and kale, tomatoes and cucumbers, while the others asked him questions.

"So what do you do when you're not dancing, Lance?" Sam wondered.

"I'm a student," he said, barely looking up from his task. "I'm on break now though."

"Oh, do you go to the university here?" Colleen asked.

"Yeah," he said.

"Did you know Katie before partnering then?" Sam said.

Lance glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "She goes to the same college?"

"Yes." Colleen set the round kitchen table with plates and cutlery as they spoke.

Lance frowned. Why had it never occurred to him to talk to Pidge about school? Or about anything other than  _ dancing _ ?

So much for their  _ chemistry _ as partners.

The thought made him even gloomier.

He finished chopping the salad when Pidge entered the kitchen, hair still damp and wearing a nice green and white sweater over khaki pants. He did a double take, momentarily floored by her effortless beauty, as she waltzed in and snatched a cucumber slice from the salad he just polished off with olive oil and vinegar.

"Hey!" he said. "That's my handiwork!"

"Huh, no wonder it tastes like pineapples," she quipped, smirking.

Another minute later and Matt stumbled in on crutches. He smiled when his eyes landed on Lance, and he forced a grin of his own, pushing everything else as far into the recesses of his brain as he could.

"Good seeing you again, Lance," Matt said with a wave.

"You too." Usually he might’ve offered some clever joke, but he couldn't bring himself to at the moment.

The meal prepared, everyone settled at the table. Lance sat between Pidge and her mother and admired the spread of lasagna, salad (that  _ he _ made), garlic bread, and sautéed broccoli.

While they ate, Lance made sure to compliment them on the food (like his mother taught him). And the questions from earlier continued:

"What are you studying, Lance?" Sam asked.

He could feel Pidge looking at him, eyes curious. "Physics," he said, spearing a piece of broccoli on his fork.

"Oh, Matt here majored in physics," Sam said excitedly. "You interested in any particular fields?"

"Astrophysics," he replied honestly. "Aerospace." He shrugged. "I'm applying to an internship at the Garrison for the summer."

"Oh, that's great!" said Sam. "I'm an aerospace engineer for the Garrison. What year are you?"

Lance narrowed his eyes at Pidge, who smiled apologetically as if to say,  _ You didn't ask and I didn't know you'd be interested. _ "I'm a fourth year," he told Sam.

"A bit late for internships," Pidge quipped.

Lance, irritated, nudged her with his foot under the table; she kicked him in retaliation. He didn't flinch...much.

"Are you graduating in the spring then?" Colleen wondered.

"Uh, no," Lance admitted, scratching his ear. "I have to stay an extra year." He hoped they wouldn't ask why - his family's finances were never very good - and he was relieved when they didn't.

He exhaled, glad for the first time in a while to not be the center of attention, when Sam and Colleen took turns talking about work. He felt Pidge's eyes on him but carefully made sure he didn't look her way.

He hated how shaky the foundation of their relationship now seemed.

* * *

After helping her parents clean up dinner, Pidge and Lance finally consulted Matt on the costume situation.

"Your dress is green with white and yellow accents, right?" Matt said, eyes sharp and thoughtful.

"Yeah," Pidge agreed. She glanced at Lance. "Got anything yellow or white?"

"Yes, yes I do," Lance said, crossing his arms. He wouldn't look at her, hadn't since the end of the meal, and it annoyed her.

"Problem solved?" Matt asked.

"Problem solved," Pidge agreed, and Matt hobbled away, leaving her and Lance alone in the hallway. "Do you want to see the dress to make sure you can match?" she wondered.

"Sure," said Lance, less enthusiastically than Pidge expected.

She stared pointedly at him, noticing the way he looked at her forehead rather than at her eyes, the strain in his smile and the droop in his shoulders. "Okay, Lance," she said, deciding to confront whatever was bothering him directly, "what's on your mind?"

She expected him to evade, to obfuscate, to deny that anything was wrong, but instead, he wondered, "Are we friends?"

Pidge blinked at him, stunned. "Yes?"

"Then why am I only learning now that we go to the same college?"

"It wasn't relevant before...?" Pidge was confused, to say the least. From the beginning of their partnership it felt like Lance wedged himself into her life easily, so much so that she liked him despite knowing him for less than a week. Hell, she even liked him romantically!

"Yeah, but stuff like that is like...Biography One-oh-One," Lance pointed out, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"You know you can ask me biographical questions anytime, right? And besides, what fun would a friendship be if we already knew everything about each other?"

"Sure," said Lance.

Pidge waited, expectant, but he didn't say anything. "Is that  _ all _ that's bothering you?"

"Yep."

"You're lying," Pidge accused. "You'd be smiling if that was all."

Lance actually smiled then, and it looked genuine, if rueful. "You caught me," he said. He sobered up though and, voice quiet, asked, "Do you like  _ dancing _ with me?"

"Yes," Pidge said immediately. It was the easiest question he could've asked.

"Then why..." He shook his head. "Never mind, let's go see your dress."

"Not so fast," Pidge said, grabbing his arm when he turned away. She tugged him down by his collar so that they were at the same eye level, ignoring the way her heart beat just a bit faster from his proximity. "What made you think I  _ don’t _ like dancing with you?"

Pidge could see his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, and she was prepared to smack him if he refused to answer, but then he said, "I overheard your brother the other day."

She frowned and let go of him. When he straightened, she asked, "Overheard him say what?"

"So I'm not  _ as bad you said _ , Pidge?" Lance demanded, crossing his arms.

Pidge stared at him for a minute, confused. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Look," said Lance, pinching the bridge of his nose and exhaling sharply. "I know I'm not the best dancer, and I know I'm hardly your first choice, but--"

"Lance," Pidge interrupted, covering his mouth with her hand to shut him up. "I honestly have  _ no idea _ what you're talking about."

He stared at her, brow furrowed, and grabbed her wrist to yank her hand away. "When your brother visited our rehearsal, I overheard you two talking after I left. He said something about me being 'not as bad you said'."

Pidge thought, straining to recall a conversation from days ago. Then, she remembered. "Oh," she said, sheepishly twining a strand of hair around her finger. "That was...you heard that out of context."

"Oh really?" Lance challenged, staring her down. "Explain it then."

She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, face hot with shame. "When we first started, I didn't think we'd be compatible, at all. After the first rehearsal, I complained about it to Matt." She looked him resolutely in the eyes. "He came to that rehearsal, saw us practicing, and said it wasn't as bad as I'd led him to believe." She grinned at him, knowing her next words would surely stroke his ego, and added, "Actually, he thinks you're a much better dancer than he is."

Lance considered her words. "Oh really?" He started smiling, a little.

"Yes!" Time to come clean, Pidge decided, at least about some things. "Lance, listen." She grabbed his arm. "You're a much more dynamic and adaptable dancer than I am, and you may have never beat Keith, but your track record is  _ really good _ ."

"That's true," Lance said, finally starting to sound like his usual smug self. But then he drooped again. "I'm just...you're a good partner too, Pidge, so I'm a little worried this'll end up like it did with Nyma."

"Oh, screw her," Pidge reassured him, taking his hand and squeezing it. "I know I've said some mean things to you this week, and I can't excuse it but--"

"Hey," Lance interrupted, and apparently it was now his turn to reassure her, "I know you've been stressed and anxious lately, so I forgive you."

"Thank you," she said, hugging him. She jumped back before he could return the hug, and said, "So do you want to see my dress for Saturday?"

"Yes, yes I do," he said, and this time she didn’t need him to convince her of his enthusiasm.

* * *

"Hey," said Lance as Pidge turned away from him, "how come you never showed me any videos of you competing with your brother?"

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him, and for a second he thought she'd comment on his non sequitur, at least until she shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "Do you want to?"

Lance grinned. "Yes, yes I do," he repeated. "The dress can wait."

"Not really, but let's go." Pidge grabbed his arm and led him up the stairs and into a bedroom that was larger than his own. The space was more open too, since a single twin bed was pushed up against the wall opposite a two-piece desk that took up an entire corner. As Pidge settled in her desk chair and pulled her laptop from her bag, Lance's gaze was drawn to the shelf fixed to the wall over her head.

There was a small globe in the middle, with textbooks propped up on one side and a pile of comic books and graphic novels on the other. Lance smirked, grabbing the one on top. " _ Watchmen _ ?" he said.

Pidge didn't look up from her computer screen. "Yes."

Lance examined the next one in the pile. "Ooh, and  _ Batgirl _ ?"

"I like Oracle better," Pidge mumbled sheepishly.

"And why is that?"

Pidge shrugged. "Oracle specializes in information and communication," she explained. "She's not in the spotlight like she was as Batgirl, but she supports everyone with skills that are useful regardless of her handicap." She looked up at him, a smug smile curling her lips. " _ And _ she's a hacker, like me."

Lance laughed. That was a depth to Pidge he never expected, but thanks to the dinnertime conversation he knew that he and Pidge still had plenty to learn about each other. "You're a hacker?"

"Well, an amateur one," she admitted, shrugging. "I'm a programmer so I know the theory. For my senior prank in high school, I downloaded a virus to the school's website so that it blasted 'Welcome to the Black Parade' anytime someone loaded the page."

"Pidge Holt, prankster, hacker, programmer, musician, ballroom dancer... Is there anything you  _ can’t _ do?" He said it admiringly, and was pleased when Pidge blushed despite her smirk.

"Get you to focus, apparently," she quipped, directing him to her computer screen.

Lance pulled up a neon green bean bag chair so that he could sit beside her. She offered him a pair of headphones - also green - and played a video.

He recognized Pidge immediately, though she had longer hair that flowed down past her shoulders. She was wearing a fairly modest lilac dress that fell almost to her ankles, and Matt wore a tuxedo with a vest and bowtie the same shade of purple as Pidge's dress.

Lance could tell they were dancing a waltz without even watching the dance itself thanks to the beat of the song, an instrumental piece heavy on strings that he didn't recognize. He watched the routine itself with a critical eye, noticing that Matt was a rather jerky dancer despite the smoothness of a waltz's motions. He had good footwork, though he had nothing on Pidge, who seemed to compensate for his jerkiness by moving with it rather than against it.

"You look really nice in that dress," Lance said, pointing at the screen and glancing sideways at Pidge.

She rolled her eyes. "You watching me or the dance, Lance?" she asked.

"Dance, Lance," he mumbled, amused.

"Just shut up and watch," she said, lightly smacking his shoulder.

The video was only about three minutes long, and he took off the headphones at the end.

"As boring as you thought?" Pidge asked, crossing her arms as she waited for his reaction.

"Yes," said Lance, but he smirked and added, "But I'm sure I wouldn't be bored if I was waltzing with you."

She covered her face with a hand and muttered, "God, why me?"

Lance chuckled and elbowed her in the side. "You're lucky you have me to broaden your horizons though, Pidge. You can't waltz for the rest of your life."

"No, I guess not," she conceded, looking back at him. "And I do have you to thank for that." She smiled, and Lance wondered what was going through her head, the way she looked fondly at him like that.

It made his chest grow warm, and he drew closer to her, like iron to a magnet.

"Hey!" she then said, and Lance jerked backwards, startled. "I have an idea."

"What?" he asked, running his hands through his hair. Why did he feel so hot and bothered suddenly?

Pidge opened an Internet browser, her smile turning sly. "Does Nyma have an Instagram?"

* * *

She made short work of hacking Nyma's Instagram account. Her profile was fairly innocuous and typical 'college-aged white girl', with selfies and aesthetic photos and fashion. Which would make her and Lance uploading countless memes to it all the more jarring to whomever might be looking.

Lance all but  _ giggled _ the entire time, only stopping, breathless with laughter, to suggest a particular meme. Pidge was warm and glad, happy that their earlier conflict was resolved and forgotten. She liked hearing his laughter in her ear, his breath warm on her neck, just as much as she liked dancing with him and pursuing petty revenge.

Idly, she wondered if she had as much of an effect on him as he did on her. And when they made eye contact again, she thought maybe, just maybe--

Someone knocked softly on her door, and Pidge turned away from Lance to see Matt standing in the doorway, balancing only on one crutch. "What's so funny?" he asked, looking from one to the other of them.

"Vengeance," Lance pronounced dramatically, pulling away from her.

Matt glanced at Pidge, and she nodded, smiling.

"Well, just so you know, it's almost ten," he said, pointing to her alarm clock.

Lance's eyes widened. "Oh, shoot," he said. "My mother always taught me not to overstay my welcome, so I should go." He stood up.

Pidge didn’t want him to leave, but she only had one idea for prolonging his stay. "The dress," she reminded him. "We never looked at my dress."

"Right," he said.

Pidge walked to her closet and pushed the door open. Inside, she reached for the routine's dress, still wrapped in a clear plastic garment bag. "What do you think?" she asked Lance and Matt.

Lance contemplated it. "I'm sure it'll look great on you," he said, winking.

She rolled her eyes but was unable to keep warmth from crawling up her neck. "I mean for  _ your _ costume colors, idiot."

"I know that," Lance said. "I think I do have something, but..." He approached, and she let him take the hanger after he shot her a questioning look. "I see blue, Pidge."

Pidge rubbed her neck. "Oh, yes, I forgot that it has blue accents."

"Then do you mind if I wear blue and white?"

She shook her head, but froze when she remembered the monstrosity he showed her earlier. "It better not be the one you showed me first!"

Matt raised an eyebrow, curious and confused, while Lance laughed. "Pidge, please," he said, "do you take me for a showboat?"

"Yes!"

"Okay, you got me there," he conceded with a shrug. He returned the dress to her. "Relax, I know what I'm doing."

She believed him, which was why she didn't demand that he send her a photo of his costume the moment he arranged it. Instead she walked him downstairs. He bid goodbye to her parents and thanked them for hosting him, then she looked to him.

"One last rehearsal?" she asked when they stood in front of the door.

"One last rehearsal," he agreed, surprisingly solemn. Then he surprised her by kissing her cheek, so quickly she didn't have time to react more than her lips parting in shock. "See you." He opened the door and walked down the path, where Hunk waited with his car to pick him up.

He waved from the rolled down window, and Pidge waved back, her mind only half in the present.

After she closed and locked the door, she asked her parents, "So did you like him?"

"He seems very nice, Katie," her mother said, smiling.

Hiccups aside, it turned out inviting him for dinner with her family was a resounding success. Now, if only she could figure out if he meant anything by that kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So anyway, I hate writing small talk almost as much as I hate engaging in it. Which is why that Lance & the Holts scene (especially when Pidge isn't there) is officially my least favorite scene in anything I've ever written, probably (and it's only made a thousand times worse by future talk. yay!!)
> 
> Also I don't endorse petty revenge. Make good choices


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They act like children (but not in a bad way)
> 
> And Lance (finally) has an epiphany, and Pidge gets her revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution: really _bad_ innuendos lie ahead. and when i say 'bad', i don't mean dirty, i mean poor quality
> 
> I think this chapter is a little on the short side but!! the next chapter is the last and also especially long so there is that. Also this chapter was the first one I completed so, stylistically, it might seem a bit...odd
> 
> As always, [bouquet-roserade](http://bouquet-roserade.tumblr.com/) has my gratitude for beta-ing (and everyone else has my gratitude for reading/commenting)

Their final rehearsal was the evening before the competition. It proved to be the smoothest run of their routine yet, their issues from the days before a distant memory, and to Pidge it felt even better than anything she ever did with Matt.

She wouldn't tell Lance that though; it was the sort of thing that would inflate his already bloated ego.

Still, when they came to their final stop, she didn't immediately drop her arms like usual. And neither did he. Instead they stood in limbo, staring at each other and grinning, catching their breaths while ignoring the music shifting from their routine's song to another in her library.

A bead of sweat dripped down the side of his face; she tracked it with her eyes, until it reached his jawline. When she looked back up, she saw his gaze drift down to her mouth.

Eyes wide, Pidge panicked and flung her arms around Lance's abdomen, burying her face in his sweat-damp shirt. She felt his heartbeat, too quick for resting minutes after ending their dance.

The dance wasn't over, though they were only standing. What a silly thought.

Lance's arms wrapped around her, holding her closer than he did when dancing. "It feels good, right?" he asked her.

Pidge knew he was talking about the routine, about how smooth and proficient and  _ perfect _ it was, but her mind took her other places and she felt her face flush. "Feels great," she told him.

His arms tightened, squeezing. "So...got any pre-competition rituals?"

Surprised, she stepped away, disentangling herself from him. "Like...?"

Lance shrugged, dropping his arms. "Well, we used to do the chicken dance," he said.

"The chicken dance?"

"You know." He was smiling, but she thought he might also be blushing. "'I don't wanna be a chicken, I don't wanna be a duck, so I shake my butt'?" He did the motions to each line, shimmying on the last phrase.

Pidge laughed. "No, not like that," she said. "Matt and I used to get ice cream; we took turns buying."

"Boring," he said. "Why is everything you did before meeting me  _ boring _ ?"

Pidge huffed and sat, working on unlacing her heels. "Maybe it  _ was _ 'boring'," she said, "but it gave us a chance to unwind and talk about something else."

"Like what?" Lance toed off his own dance shoes while they spoke, then reaching for his sneakers.

Pidge stuffed her heels into her bag and put on her casual shoes. "Like...school, work,  _ gossip _ ." She rolled her eyes at him.

"Pidge, we've talked about this," Lance said, his tone pedantic like he was lecturing a child. "You need to...broaden your horizons a bit." He demonstrated something 'broad' by spreading his hands. Then, inspiration seemed to strike as his face lit up. "Why don't we start our own pre-competition ritual?"

Pidge frowned. She shrugged into her jacket and zipped up her bag. "A ritual implies repetition," she pointed out.

"Yeah?" said Lance.

She swallowed, deciding she might as well broach a topic that had been bothering her for days. "You think we'll dance together again after this?"

His face fell immediately. "I guess your brother's broken leg isn't permanent, huh?"

Pidge shrugged, sighing and looking anywhere but at Lance. "He'll make a full recovery," she said.

"That's good," he said. His tone was that fake cheerful voice she'd gotten used to hearing in just a week, the tone he used to cover up when something was bothering him.

She hated it.

"Help me up," she said, raising her hand.

He grabbed it and pulled her up easily. He held her hand for a second longer than necessary, but she was still disappointed when he let go in favor of picking up her bag and passing it to her.

She shouldered it and said, "Maybe this'll be our one and only competition, but that doesn't mean we can't do what you suggested."

He led the way out of the studio and downstairs till they were standing on the sidewalk, shivering in the chilly air. "And what's that?" he finally said.

"A pre-competition ritual," she told him, smirking at him.

"Got any ideas?"

"How do you feel about prank calling?"

* * *

It was juvenile, it was silly, it was the dumbest thing Lance had ever done.

And he loved every minute of it.

They rode the bus to his apartment and settled onto the sofa side by side. And then they made the first call.

It was a simple one, to Lance's sister Rosario. They called from Pidge's phone, and since Rosario wouldn't know her (and Lance prank-called his own family members more times than he cared to admit) she was the one who did the talking.

Pidge ordered a pizza.

"Yeah, I'd like an extra-large with no cheese and double sausage." She said it all with an impressively straight face, which Lance found hilarious in its own right.

"I'm sorry?" said poor Rosario, "I think you might have the wrong number."

"You mean this  _ isn’t _ Dick's Sausage Pies?" Pidge asked in a tone that was perfectly plaintive and confused and just a bit suggestive.

"What?" said Rosario. "No! This is my  _ work phone _ ."

Lance fought giggles, and Pidge said, "Yes, so I  _ can’t _ get a pizza here?"

"No! No you can't!"

"Well you need to rethink your life choices, miss," said Pidge, flashing a thumbs up to Lance. "As far as I know, pizza is the best thing to work in."

"I'll keep that in mind," Rosario said faintly. "Good night." She hung up.

Pidge burst into laughter. When she caught her breath, she asked, "All right, who should we call next?"

Lance suggested her brother, and he made the call from his phone, this time claiming to have found his cat. Matt, however, saw through him immediately.

"Prank calls, Katie?" he asked. "Really? Are you ten?"

"I'm reliving my childhood, man!" she responded, snatching Lance's phone out of his hand.

Matt sighed, and said, "Call Shiro instead."

They went through with Matt's suggestion, and since Lance had never had the pleasure of meeting Shiro - but oh boy did he want to, and he didn't bother to wonder what  _ this _ prank call was doing to his chances of making a good first impression – he was the one to place the call.

"Mr. President," said Lance, pitching his voice lower and more serious, "I have some news."

"...what?" answered Shiro.

"It's terrible, I'm afraid," continued Lance. "NASA has just contacted me; aliens are set to invade Earth any day now."

"What."

"I know, I know," said Lance. "I'm sure you have many questions for me." He grinned when he saw Pidge's shoulders shaking with the giggles she stifled with a hand covering her mouth.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Shiro demanded.

"You know me, Mr. President." He added a touch of suggestion to his voice, to put Shiro at ease, and even winked at Pidge, delighted by the way she blushed.

"No, no I don't," said Shiro. Lance also enjoyed that Shiro had yet to correct him on addressing him as 'Mr. President'.

"Well, you  _ will _ know me, sir," said Lance, "since when the aliens invade you'll need a guy like me at your side."

Shiro hung up, and Pidge finally laughed out loud, laughed so hard she cried. Lance felt warm, loved that she was laughing because of him.

Pidge struggled to catch her breath for a few seconds, then said, "Were you trying to  _ flirt _ with him?"

"I don't know about  _ trying _ ," Lance retorted, rolling his eyes.

Pidge just laughed harder, even as Lance pouted at her. She wiped tears from her eyes, and Lance joined her.

"All right, who's next?" Pidge asked.

Lance frowned. "Keith?"

Pidge shook her head. "He knows both of us, so it wouldn't work."

"Please," said Lance, "Keith wouldn't notice."

"Uh, he'd notice if your number is saved in his phone."

"Oh." Damn, she was right.

"Besides," Pidge added, "Keith turns his phone off on nights before competitions."

Lance raised a suspicious eyebrow at her. "And you know this how?"

Pidge smiled, looking sheepish, and said, "He was my dance partner in high school."

Lance gaped at her. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, I was too young to be in the same class as my brother," she explained. Lance thought she seemed embarrassed, the way she wouldn't look at him. "That was before he met Allura though."

"Ah, of course." Lance was angry, and sympathetic, on Pidge's behalf. "He ditched you for a different partner?"

Pidge shook her head. "No, he graduated from the class before me too, and by the time we were in the same class again, Allura was his partner. And they're  _ much _ better together than Keith and I were."

Lance narrowed his eyes at her. "Huh, considering his style, no wonder you prefer stuff like waltzes."

Pidge stared right back, crossing her arms, and smirked. "Jealous?"

"What? No!" Lance was quick to deny, but his face flushed, and from the triumphant look she shot him, he knew she noticed.

She didn't comment on it though, and he had no idea why.

A strange tension filled the air. They'd been sitting close together on the sofa the entire time, and her leg was almost in his lap, her shoulder pressed against his arm. He wanted to move, to wrap an arm around her shoulders and tug her even closer. He held his breath, debating, and when she leaned her head against his shoulder--

It was at that moment that Hunk opened the front door.

Lance internally cursed his timing while Hunk called, "I have leftovers if you want them. There are some really good garlic mashed potatoes in here, dude."

Pidge shifted away from him, and Lance exhaled as Hunk walked into the living room, eyes wide as they landed on where they sat close together on the couch. A sly smile appeared on his face.

"Done with rehearsal?" he asked.

"Some time ago," said Pidge.

"New pre-competition ritual," Lance said.

"Very nice," said Hunk. "Dare I ask what it is?"

"It's a secret," said Lance. "You know how it is."

Pidge shot him a suspicious look but didn't contradict him, for which he was grateful.

Hunk, whom he never even told about the chicken dance wind-down, shrugged. "Whatever you say, Lance." He left them for the kitchen.

Why did he have to sound so skeptical?

Pidge stood and said, "It's late anyway. I'd better go while the buses are still running."

"Sure, I'll walk you to the door."

Pidge pointed towards the door and raised an eyebrow at him. "It's not even five yards away, Lance," she pointed out.

"Yes, well, my mother taught me to be a good host," he said.

"You never even fed me," Pidge said. "I've proven to be a better host than you."

Lance scowled at her. "We were too excited about our ritual. And besides, last night was all on your parents."

Pidge laughed as she reached for her bag. "I know, I'm just teasing you, Lance. But I did want to know, did you have fun last night?"

"Yeah, I did." Lance's face softened into a smile, but he blushed when he remembered kissing her. "And the teasing is just fine," he added in an effort to dispel his embarrassment. He still walked her to the door, waited for her to lace up her sneakers. He opened it, and when she stepped into the hallway, she turned back to face him.

"It's been an interesting week," she admitted, seeming almost shy.

"It has," Lance agreed. "We'll kick ass tomorrow."

"We will.  _ Including _ Keith's."

"We'd better," said Lance.

She didn't reply to that, but she did look at his face, expectant. And Lance really wanted to kiss her again, but this time on the mouth.

The thought came out of nowhere. And he'd known that he was attracted to Pidge almost as long as he'd known her.

Attraction, though, was one thing. Kissing was an entirely  _ different _ thing, at least to him.

But before he could even gather his nerve, she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. "See you tomorrow," she said, her eyes seeming to say,  _ how do you like that?, _ then spun on her heel and walked down the hall towards the stairs.

"Sleep well," he called faintly after her, touching his cheek where he felt the soft brush of her lips. After standing frozen for at least a full minute, he shook his head to clear it, closed the door, and leaned against it.

"So did you kiss yet?"

Lance flinched, flailing as he almost lost his balance, and glared at Hunk. "On the cheek," he said, sounding sulky even to his own ears.

"But you want to on the lips, right?"

Lance buried his face in his arm. "Yes."

"Good," said Hunk.

He looked up at his roommate. "What? Why?"

"Well, at the beginning of the week you were still hung up on Nyma and feeling terrible about her ditching you."

"We weren't even dating," Lance mumbled.

"But you wanted to, right?"

"Right," Lance admitted, crossing his arms.

"And now, well, do you even think about her anymore?"

Hunk was staring at him, with that odd look that meant he was worried and fully prepared to say  _ I told you so _ the moment Lance proved him right.

"No," said Lance.

Hunk grinned. "You'll be fine, buddy," he said.

"What if Pidge doesn't want to keep dancing with me?" Lance asked, this new worry infecting his mind.

"Why do you say that?"

"She implied it," Lance said. "Her brother won't be off his leg forever."

"Then you need to talk to her about it," Hunk suggested, " _ explicitly _ ."

"Right," said Lance, "you're always right."

"Thanks," said Hunk. "I try my best."

* * *

When Pidge got home, she flopped onto the couch beside Matt, sitting with her feet up and crisscrossing her legs, foregoing her usual nighttime routine in favor of watching TV with him.

It was not a show she particularly liked - some stupid police drama that Matt at least enjoyed - but she needed to talk to him, to set her mind at ease so she could sleep. As screwed up as her sleeping schedule tended to be, she still tried to get a good night's worth before competitions.

And she owed it to Lance to be ready and alert.

"So..." said Matt, glancing at her during a commercial, "what's on your mind?"

"Why would anything be on my mind?" Pidge asked, surprised he picked up on her mood already.

"Katie, you're a genius," said Matt. "There's always something on your mind. Besides, you hate this show."

Pidge smiled, relaxing. "You caught me," she said. "I want to talk to you about something."

"All right, I'm all ears."

"And your stupid drama?" Pidge asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Matt looked between her and the TV. "You have until the end of the commercial, unless you can prove your problem is more interesting than the story."

Pidge rolled her eyes, but wondered, "Are you planning on returning to dancing once you recover?"

"I haven't really thought about it to be honest. Why? You hate your new partner that much?" When Pidge wouldn't look at him, he teased, "Or do you just really like him?"

Pidge hated that she blushed so easily, especially when Matt laughed at her. "You like dancing with Lance then?"

"Our styles were incompatible at first," Pidge admitted, "but after we worked out how to complement each other it just...everything sort of fell into place, you know?"

"Not really," Matt said, shrugging, "but I can see what you mean."

"Can you?"

"Yeah," said Matt. "When I went to your rehearsal the other day, I could tell you had only just started from scratch."

"Wow, thanks."

Matt raised a hand. "No, wait, hear me out. It was obvious you'd just started, but even by just the end of the day, you worked together  _ much _ better. Both of you adapted to the other within hours, and that's impressive. Lance adapted to your complicated footwork, and you adapted to his energy."

"You make it sound like all our problems were solved in just a day," Pidge complained.

"Not at all," said Matt. He turned the volume on the TV down as the commercial break ended. "But I think you reached a definite turning point then. Before that you were doing it for the sake of competing, but after it was to prove you  _ could _ and  _ would _ work together. It was beautiful and even a little humbling to watch."

"What do you mean?"

Matt toyed with the hem of his t-shirt. "Well, dancing with you is fun," he said. "I would never have stuck with it for so long if not for you. But I don't think you ever put in so much effort with me as your partner."

Pidge didn't like the way that sounded. "I'm not sure I follow," she said, scowling at Matt.

Matt chuckled, ruffling her hair. "It's just that you never thought you  _ had _ to try with me," he said. "Lance challenged you in a way I never did."

Pidge sank into the couch cushions, thinking. She  _ had _ worked harder to compensate for her and Lance's technical and stylistic differences, and Lance did the same to meet her somewhere in the middle. But something about the way Matt explained it still made her uncomfortable.

"Do you like him?" Matt asked her.

Pidge turned her head so fast she thought she might’ve given herself whiplash. "What?"

"I asked, do you like him? Like, do you want to kiss him?"

"Yes," she admitted easily enough, though she blushed furiously.

Matt laughed. "Perfect," he said. "And he and his ex-partner?"

"Never dancing together again," Pidge confirmed, remembering the awkward encounter with Nyma from a few days ago.

"Then you should continue competing with Lance," Matt suggested. "I've always wanted to say I'm retired."

"You're only twenty-six," Pidge deadpanned.

"The key, dear sister," Matt said, pointing at her for emphasis, "is to not say what you retired  _ from _ ."

Pidge rolled her eyes but smiled, at least until Matt shoved a pillow in her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment(s) you've all been waiting for...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter breakdown is basically 97% fluff, 1% angst, and 2% plot  
> (I'm not even kidding about the lack of plot, but this IS the end)
> 
> And it's a long chapter too. Probably about a third of the entire fic
> 
> Supplementary material:  
> The reference I used for Pidge's and Lance's quickstep routine can be viewed [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=osDemusH6UM)  
> And the song that they dance to (in both the video and in the fic...because I fell in love with the song to be honest) is ["That Man"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i4JqrccUSYQ) by Caro Emerald
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read this (seriously, every single comment has been a treasure), especially to my beta [bouquet-roserade](http://bouquet-roserade.tumblr.com/)

Hunk, blessed roommate that he was, had breakfast prepared when Lance walked into the kitchen the morning of the competition. He glanced up from where he was frying eggs on the stove at Lance's entry and smiled.

"You ready for today?" he asked.

Lance, who still had to take a shower and pack the clothes he finally decided on for the routine, only said, "Did you make coffee?"

Hunk pointed at the coffee maker, and Lance poured himself a mug of liquid caffeine, adding enough caramel creamer to it to turn it a pale shade of brown. He sipped at it, pretending, for the moment, that he actually liked coffee.

After he and Hunk polished off their breakfasts, Lance cleaned up – it was only fair, since Hunk was kind enough to cook. "You ready, Lance?" Hunk asked again.

Lance smiled as he scrubbed grease off a pan. He woke up a little groggier and more tired than he liked since he had trouble sleeping last night - thoughts of Pidge and images of him dancing with her and a fantasy of him ending their routine with a kiss on his mind. But after eating and drinking coffee, he felt much better, and even confident.

"I'm more than ready, Hunk," he replied, setting aside the clean, dripping pan and reaching for a plate. "Pidge and I are going to kick ass."

"I can't wait."

"Oh?" Lance closed the tap and turned to face Hunk, leaning against the counter. "You coming to watch us? You almost never came to my competitions before."

"Well, before your partner was kind of unpleasant to me," Hunk said, smiling apologetically and rubbing the back of his neck. "Besides, I'm friends with both you and Pidge, and I  _ did _ bring you together."

"Yeah, we owe you," Lance admitted. "I'll pay for your spectator ticket."

"No need," Hunk said. He stood up and poured himself a glass of orange juice. "Just let me be the best man at your and Pidge's wedding."

Lance almost choked on his last slice of bacon. Hunk pounded him on the back when he coughed, and he mumbled his thanks, even though his near-death experience was entirely Hunk's fault.

Then he noticed that Hunk's attention was fixed on his phone, and he couldn't help the sly smile that crossed his face as he asked, "So how's Shay this lovely December?"

"Oh, Shay's visiting her family for break," Hunk said, tone entirely too nonchalant.

Lance pouted, disappointed that he didn't rise to the easy bait. "Are you talking to her?" he wondered, actually curious.

"Nah, it's just one of my coworkers. Anyway, when do you want to go? I'll drive you."

"Hunk, have I ever told you that you're my favorite person? Outside of my family, I mean. Or, uh..." Lance trailed off, smiling sheepishly. "We live together, so that practically makes you family."

Hunk grinned. "You bet," he said. "Anyway I have to make a phone call, so I'll meet you in the living room whenever you're ready?" He exited the kitchen without waiting for a reply, leaving Lance to finish cleaning up.

When he was done, he took a shower. After finishing, the bathroom smelled like his pineapple-scented shampoo, and he had to use a towel to clear the condensation off the mirror. Staring at his reflection always made Lance feel almost uncomfortably introspective, which was ironic for someone that was usually pleased with how he looked.

He wondered what Pidge saw in him, if she even might’ve had feelings for him like he now knew he had for her. Which, considering they'd only known each other a week, was unlikely.

But they'd been alone in close quarters  _ often _ during that week!

Lance frowned at his face in the mirror. He wrapped his towel around himself and returned to his bedroom to change.

He assumed that Pidge would get dressed at the competition venue, like his old partner did, but he would dress at home. First the shirt, then the slacks and tie. He tugged on black socks that shouldn't be visible under pants that were hemmed just a little too long - personal taste more than adhering to any dress code.

Lance grabbed his jacket on his way out, then a small bag to carry his wallet and other miscellaneous objects he might need during the day. Then he joined Hunk in the living room.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

"Yeah," Hunk said, standing. "Is Pidge gonna meet us there?"

Lance shrugged. "I kinda want to get there before she does," he admitted. "I'll text her after I sign us in."

"Don't you both need to do that?" Hunk asked, opening the front door as he did.

Lance followed him out. "No, one dancer is enough," he said. "Besides," he continued, dramatically slinging his jacket over his shoulder, "the number is attached to  _ me _ , which is why I want to be there first."

That, and he wanted to maximize the time he spent with her today; if Pidge got there first, she'd spend time there without  _ him _ , and that would be tragic for both of them.

Hunk drove like he was maneuvering over eggshells, and Lance couldn't help mentally comparing his habits to Pidge's. He didn't smack Lance's hand away when he turned up the radio or changed the station (to something  _ other _ than the news; honestly, his friends were such nerds), and his stops at lights were smooth rather than jerky.

After Hunk parked, Lance was quick to grab his bag and jacket and practically fall out of the car in his excitement.

"Honestly, Lance," Hunk quipped as he walked around to help Lance to his feet, "Pidge might have the worst luck with her dance partners injuring themselves."

"I'm fine," Lance whined, brushing off his pants. "Did I get dirt on them?"

"Nope, you look good, dude," Hunk reassured him, patting him on the shoulder.

"Good, good." Belongings in hand, Lance ventured to the hotel. It was still early so it was not too crowded, but he thought he caught a glimpse of Keith's mullet somewhere in the lobby. He was tempted to go say hi, maybe engage in some ritualistic pre-competition trash talk, but he decided to sign in, the sooner to be on the lookout for Pidge.

While waiting in line, he got out his phone and texted her that he was already there. Right in time to sign in, he stuffed his phone into his pocket, showing his photo ID to registration and getting his and Pidge's number and performance time.

"Not too bad," Lance said, considering their time was in the afternoon.

"What's not too bad?" a familiar voice asked from behind him.

Lance turned to see someone he hadn't in a while. His lips stretched into a wide smile. "Cici!" he said, walking forward to engulf his sister - his youngest, but still older than him - in a bear hug. "I didn't know you were coming!"

Cecilia laughed, returning his hug and squeezing him tightly. "I wasn't planning on it, but I was driving through the area and I thought why not." She nudged him back and tweaked his nose. "How're you doing, Lance? You eating enough?" She poked him in the ribs.

Lance batted her hand away. "What are you, my mother?" he demanded, but he was still smiling when he said it.

"No, just your caretaker until I leave later," Cecilia said. She linked her arm with his and dragged him away, though she looked critically at his clothes. "Hunk told me your partner's wearing a  _ green _ dress?"

"Yeah, but I don't have any--" He cut himself off when her words registered. "Wait, you've been in contact with Hunk?"

She rolled her eyes and smirked, nudging him in the side. "How do you think I knew where to come today?"

"Hunk and I need to have words about these surprises," Lance said, but his warm tone belied his words.

"I'll let him know," Cecilia said. "Now, let's see if we can do something about getting you something green..."

* * *

Pidge's usual pre-competition routine involved eating a light breakfast (eat too much and she might get nauseous while she waited to perform), taking a shower, and styling her hair and makeup, something that her mother helped her with. She'd change from her jeans and sweatshirt into her costume at the hotel, where the event was being held, in one of the tents they set up just for that purpose.

Pidge though didn't have much hair  _ to _ style, since she cut it short sometime after her and Matt's last competition.

"Honestly, Katie," her mother bemoaned while she tried to pin up a loose clump with a barrette, "you don't have enough hair for this."

Pidge stared at her reflection. Her makeup was already done, muted colors except for the light green eye shadow and the blood-red lipstick. She’d probably overdone it with the lipstick, but she didn't care enough to wipe it off and start over. Her hair, though, was definitely proving problematic.

"It's okay, Mom," she said, twisting a strand around her finger. "I'll figure it out."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," she said, glancing over her shoulder towards her and flashing a smile. "Thanks."

In the end, she rejected any real attempts at styling and simply tied what hair she could into a loose bun that dangled against her neck. It was plain, but Pidge decided she liked the effect.

A part of her hoped Lance would too.

While she gathered what she needed to take into her bag, she hummed the song they were dancing to, even mumbling the lyrics under her breath as she went. It was a stupidly catchy song, and it had grown on her in the last few days.

___"Ooh that man is on my list,_  
___And ooh that man I wanna kiss_  
___My only sin is I can't win_  
___Ooh I wanna love that man."_

Pidge paused, the lyrics penetrating her brain for the first time. "God dammit," she said, the irony of the song no longer lost on her.

"Ready to go?" her mother said, appearing in the doorway. She raised an eyebrow when she took in Pidge's appearance, even going so far as to point at her own hair.

"Yeah, let me just grab my shoes." She deliberately ignored her mother's unspoken remark on the still slightly disheveled state of her hair as she marched downstairs with her bag over one shoulder and her dress draped over the other. "Who's driving?"

"That would be me," Matt said from where he was sitting on the couch. "Mom and Dad are coming later when it's closer to your performance time."

"Okay."

"You want me to carry anything for you?" Matt asked, his key chain swinging around a finger.

Pidge pointedly looked him up and down. "You want  _ me _ to carry anything for you?" she retorted.

Matt sighed. "I'm never riding my bike again."

Pidge opened the door for him, calling a goodbye to their parents as she did. "Don't be like that, Matt," she teased him. "You still have  _ one _ good leg. Maybe you can take up the unicycle?"

"That's not how unicycles work," he grumbled, but Pidge only laughed.

She pushed her bag into the cramped backseat of Matt's Mini Cooper and hung her dress from the hook by the door. She took Matt's crutches from him and helped him into the driver's seat while he complained about feeling like an old man the entire time. Then she walked around the car and settled into the front seat, buckling up.

Once Matt backed onto the street and they were underway, Pidge unlocked her phone to text Lance and ask him when he'd be at the location, only to see he beat her to the punch.

_ Im there and im about to get our number  
_ _ U almost there?? _

Pidge replied, telling him she was on her way. Her heart pounded, both in anticipation of the competition and excitement to see him again.

"Matt," she said, reaching over to turn down his weird synth-pop.

"Yeah?" he said, angling his head towards her.

"How would you feel if we placed?" she asked.

"Feeling that confident?" he asked, grinning at her.

"Lance has rubbed off on me," she said, rolling her eyes. "Besides, you thought we'd place this time too, before..." She waved at his leg.

"Yeah, but you and I danced together for years." He smiled, slowing as he entered the hotel parking lot. "You and Lance, on the other hand, have only been dancing together a week." He parked, and before Pidge could get out, he added, "But no, of course I wouldn't be upset. You'd have earned it."

Pidge leaned across the center console to hug her brother. "I love you, Matt," she said.

Matt patted her back. "Love you too, Katie. Now can you get my crutches for me please? I'm still dependent on you for my survival."

Pidge laughed and leaned away to open her door. The first thing she retrieved from the backseat were her brother's crutches, which she handed to him as he slowly guided his leg over the doorway. "You didn't think I'd leave you here, did you?" she asked.

Matt grinned at her. "Never," he said, taking the crutches from her.

He was all right on his own from then, so Pidge grabbed her stuff from the car. Then together they headed to the hotel entrance, where other competitors and spectators were arriving ahead of their performance times.

Matt caught sight of Shiro and left her to join him in finding seats in the actual ballroom, and Pidge went to find Lance and sign herself in.

Lance ended up finding her instead.

While she was standing in line to sign in, someone tapped her on the shoulder. She startled, spinning around and swinging her fist reflexively.

"Hey!" Lance exclaimed, catching her fist before it could connect with his face.

"Sorry, sorry!" she said. "You startled me."

Lance laughed and said, "Sorry, I couldn't resist surprising you, but if I knew you would've clocked me in the face I would've approached you from the front."

Pidge laughed, and the nerves simmering in her stomach dissipated just a little.

"Anyway, I already signed us in." He dropped her hand and spun around, pointing at the number already attached to his back. "We're Number Five."

"Who attached it for you?" Pidge asked, following him out of the line.

"My sister," he said, smiling. "I didn't know she'd come, so it was a surprise."

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him. "Not the one I prank called last night?"

Lance laughed and took her bag from her, ignoring her trying to tug it back. "No, that was Rosario. Cecilia, my youngest sister, came today." His eyes shone gleefully when she finally surrendered her bag to him. "Ooh, you can meet her after our performance!"

"Sounds like fun," Pidge agreed. Then she finally took in his costume, which she only saw in photos he sent before their last rehearsal. He was wearing a creamy white suit, tailored to show off his broad shoulders, with a pale blue shirt underneath. His tie was yellow, and she noticed he'd pinned a white rose spray-painted the same shade of green as her dress to his pocket. Taken together, the effect was definitely colorful and not as gaudy as she feared.

She pointed at the rose. "That's a nice touch," she said.

"Isn't it?" Lance agreed, touching the petals. "It was Cecilia's idea. She insisted I should wear at least  _ one _ green thing."

"When's our performance time?" Pidge asked, meandering towards the tents so she could change.

Lance kept pace with her. "Two o'clock," he said. "We can get lunch at noon?"

"Not a chance," Pidge said, clutching her stomach.

Lance laughed. "You sound like Hunk." Then he eyed her head, gaze sweeping from the crown of her head down to her lips. "So you didn't do much with your hair?"

Pidge gritted her teeth, but tried to relax when she heard how uncritical he sounded. "It's short," she complained. "I can't do much to style short hair."

"I like it," Lance said, tucking a loose strand back into her bun.

So much for relaxing, Pidge thought.

* * *

At the hall of changing tents, Lance stood in the entrance holding Pidge's duffel bag while she searched for one that was unoccupied. When she found one, she waved him over.

"I'll take that," she said, recovering her bag from him and pulling aside the curtain.

"Wait a minute, Pidge," he said. When she looked at him, he asked, "So there are some practice spaces, if you want to do one last run-through? Like a dress rehearsal?" And he needed to talk to her about their partnership after the competition.

It was not something he wanted hanging over his head while performing for the judges.

She smiled. "Sounds good," she said. "And do you mind staying here in case I need help?"

Lance raised an eyebrow. "Help? Getting dressed?" He was not blushing, no, not at all.

"Yeah?" she said. He thought she might be blushing too, but the lighting in the hallway was poor, and she didn't look embarrassed about her request. "There are straps on the back that my poor short arms can't reach."

"Sure," he agreed, shrugging and hoping it looked nonchalant. "I can do that. Just yell if you need me."

Pidge grinned. "Great," she said, disappearing into the tent.

While Lance waited, leaning against the wall opposite Pidge's tent and trying not to let his feet get trod on by people walking up and down the hall, he took his phone out to see a text from his sister.

_ So Hunk tells me you have a crush on your partner? _

Lance scowled at his phone. He and Hunk  _ really _ needed to have words.

He didn't have an opportunity to confirm or deny though, because Pidge called, "Lance?"

He put his phone away and shoved the curtain aside to see Pidge with her half-bared back to him, laces in her hands as she strained to tie them up herself. She glanced over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow at him. "Like the dress?"

Lance realized his jaw was hanging open, and shut it tight. "Uh, yes," he said. "The dress is...pretty." And it was, a pastel green with yellow and white and blue accents, or what he'd seen of it was, though not nearly as pretty as the woman wearing it.

He shook his head to clear it and took the ends of the laces, with her guiding him through how to fasten them up. The whole back, from the bottom of her spine to the base of her neck, was laced in  _ straps _ , with another pair done up at the top of her neck to secure the front of her dress.

Lance barely breathed through the whole ordeal, awfully conscious of how  _ intimate _ the situation was. And when he was finally done, he stepped away from her and pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling in a huff through his mouth.

Pidge didn't turn to face him yet, or kick him out. She messed with the dress, straightening it out. It had a skirt with a wide hem - to allow for a range of movement - that reached down to mid-calf. And when she turned around to face him, smiling, he could see that the front of the dress was surprisingly modest, the neckline entirely covering her (admittedly limited) chest and only showing a hint of collarbone.

She looked stunning in it.

"You look stunning," he said, his brain-to-mouth filter failing him in his time of need.

Pidge blushed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Thanks," she said. "I haven't put my shoes on yet though."

Lance knew that for a dismissal, so he said, "I'll just...wait outside." He stumbled out, making sure the tent's curtain was sufficiently sealed, and rested his forehead against the wall.

"Lance?"

Just his luck that Keith and Allura would appear in his time of distress. He looked up, leaning his shoulder against the wall in what he hoped was a casual pose. "Hello, enemy mine," he said, smirking.

Allura raised an eyebrow at him. As usual, she was beautiful in a metallic pink and silver dress that brushed her ankles, and in high heels she was about two inches taller than Keith, who was dashing in a black suit and pink vest and bowtie, his hair tamed into a bun.

"Are you okay?" Keith asked cautiously.

"You seem distressed," Allura noted, smiling at him.

"Just peachy," said Lance, flashing a thumbs up at them.

"You ready to go, Lance?" Pidge asked, emerging from the tent.

Lance turned to look at her, and sadly (or gladly; he was not sure yet) seeing her again had the same effect on him, leaving him speechless.

He always thought she was beautiful, but now that she was wearing a dress, he'd never be able to shake that thought - and that image - from his head.

"You look wonderful, Pidge," Allura told her, her smile now directed at Pidge.

"Thank you, Allura," Pidge replied, returning a grin of her own. "You look amazing too, and you too Keith."

Lance hated the unpleasant heat of jealousy he felt when she complimented Keith, and it still lingered when her gaze fell on him. Her smile widened when she looked at him, her eyes brightening in a way that he hadn't seen before, and his envy vanished as if it never was.

"We'll be seeing you on the dance floor," Lance said to Keith and Allura, taking Pidge's bag from her over her protests that she could _ carry it on her own, Lance. _

"Good luck!" Allura told them, waving as they walked away.

Keith smiled, and Lance winked back at them.

"Do you wink at everyone?" Pidge asked him once they were outside the crowded hallway.

"Oh, you know it," Lance said, winking at her.

She rolled her eyes, but there was still a pleased smile on her face as he steered her to an empty room set aside for practice.

The motions they went through in the beginning were as familiar to Lance as anything else in his daily schedule at this point. They'd already both stretched, Pidge in the changing tent before she finished dressing, and Lance before he found her. But Pidge set up her laptop - when Lance pointed out she could've just played the song on her phone, she said,  _ I bring this everywhere _ \- like usual, and then she and Lance did some basic steps that weren't part of their competition routine like usual.

And then Pidge turned on the music, and they danced.

When they joined in the middle after their respective solos, Pidge came into Lance's arms seamlessly. She was humming the tune of the music, and the notes sang in his blood and filled him with the high of a confident performance. It was wonderful, he thought. He loved dancing with Pidge, it was now as effortless to him as breathing, and all the sweeter because they worked hard to get to this point.

But still, dread curled in his gut, twisted and ugly, enough that when they held their final pose, he couldn't muster the smile he needed to.

Pidge, still within the fold of his arms, saw it. "What's wrong?" she asked. "We're ready, we'll do great."

"I know," he said. A drop of cold sweat slid unpleasantly down his back. He let go of Pidge, but she kept a hand on his shoulder to hold him close.

"Tell me. I don't want to perform with something weighing on your mind."

He held her eyes, contemplating. This reminded him of the other night, when he ate dinner with her family and she soothed the insecurities that plagued him. This was similar, he told himself. And Hunk advised him to talk to her too.

"I need to know if we'll still dance together after today."

Pidge stared at him, eyes wide, her arms resting loosely on his shoulders. "Yes," she said without hesitation. "Win or lose, place or not, we're partners now."

Lance slumped, his breath escaping in a relieved huff, and he placed her hands on her waist. "Oh, thank God." Then he remembered why he was worried in the first place. "What about your brother?"

Pidge shrugged. She admitted, "I talked to him. We worked something out. He says he's  _ retiring _ ." She rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Lance, I want to keep dancing with you, okay? It won't end here."

"Promise?" he said, hating how tremulous his voice sounded.

"Promise," she said.

They were standing so close, in perfect position, with Pidge's arms almost flung around his neck and his hands on her waist. He could feel her breath against his cheek, since she was closer to him in height while wearing her dancing heels.

_Why not now?_ he thought, and started leaning towards her.

The door burst open, and he and Pidge sprung apart as if caught doing something...less than innocent.

Lance glared towards the door to see a couple he didn't recognize. "You done with this room?" the woman asked.

"Yeah," said Pidge, going to collect her laptop. She wasn't looking at Lance, and he knew the moment was over. "It's all yours."

"Thanks," said the man.

Pidge grabbed her bag, then finally faced Lance. She smiled, holding out her hand for him, and something in the gesture promised,  _ Later _ .

Lance took it, an affirmation.

* * *

After their impromptu dress rehearsal, they only had about two hours until they performed for the judges, so in the meantime she and Lance wandered around the hotel, careful not to strain their muscles (and Pidge's feet).

Before changing into her dress, Pidge texted Matt and their parents telling them when their performance time was, so she expected that they'd be there within the hour immediately before it. But while they strolled through the hotel lobby, with Lance regaling her with a tale of his very first ballroom competition in high school, she spotted Matt and Shiro sitting together out of the way of most of the attendees.

Pidge grinned when she remembered Lance's reaction to finding out she knew Shiro. And her grin only widened when she recalled their prank-calling escapades the night before.

"Hey Lance," she said, interrupting his story. For a moment, he looked indignant at her cutting him off, at least until she added, "There's someone I think you'd like to meet."

"Ooh, who?" he asked. He followed her gaze towards her brother, and at first his brow furrowed in confusion. Then his jaw dropped, and Pidge smirked in amusement. "Shiro? Really?" he practically squeaked, staring at Pidge.

"Yes, really," she said. She tugged him across the room by the hand, but he came eagerly. "Matt!" she called when they were closer, and he and Shiro looked up, whatever conversation they were having interrupted by their arrival.

"Hey Pidge," Shiro greeted her.

"Please explain that name to me, Pidge," Lance hissed into her ear.

"One day," she promised. She returned her attention to Matt and Shiro and pulled Lance closer. "Shiro, I'd like you to meet my new dance partner, Lance. Lance, this is Shiro."

"It's nice to meet you, Lance," Shiro said, smiling pleasantly and offering his hand - the prosthetic one - to shake.

Lance only hesitated for a second - Pidge suspected the prosthetic surprised him - to accept and shook his hand vigorously. "It's so nice to meet you too, Shiro," he said, all but gushing.

Pidge grinned, enjoying the spectacle. Lance tended towards eagerness in general, but she'd never seen him this giddy. She wondered if she should be jealous, at least until Lance flashed her a smile, eyes bright when he mouthed,  _ Thank you. _

Shiro was gracious despite Lance's attention, and Lance toned down his enthusiasm within minutes of meeting. His questions were serious and pointed, impressing Pidge.

"So what got you into ballroom dancing anyway?" Lance asked.

"My mother was really into ballet," Shiro told him. "I started that first, but I liked dancing in pairs more than anything so then I convinced her to let me do ballroom instead when I was ten."

"Were you  _ really _ considered to be one of the pros on  _ Dancing with the Stars _ , or is that just a rumor?"

Shiro laughed, rubbing his nose in a gesture Pidge recognized as discomfort. Matt answered for him, "He actually was, but that was before..."

Lance's eyes widened, and he understood immediately. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know."

"That's all right," Shiro reassured him with a pat on the shoulder. "What got  _ you _ into ballroom dancing?"

"My sister Cecilia," Lance replied easily, and Pidge listened closely since she never bothered to ask Lance before. "She took lessons through high school and quit competing when she started college. I wanted to be just like her, so I started when I was old enough. But I never stopped." He smiled fondly.

"Cecilia is the one that's here today?" Pidge asked him.

Lance looked at her. "Yep, that's the one." He took her hand again, but this time his fingers interlaced with hers.

The gesture seemed almost absentminded, but it still filled Pidge with warmth.

She blushed, smiling slightly when her brother scrutinized their joined hands. But she knew he wouldn't ask about it in front of Shiro.

Matt and Shiro retreated into their own conversation, about work and Matt's recovery and Shiro's studio. Lance took out his phone with his free hand - he showed no sign of letting go of Pidge's - and after a minute or so of browsing something, he laughed.

"Oh my God, Pidge," Lance said, breathless and choking on his laughter.

"What?" Pidge demanded.

Lance showed her the screen, and Pidge saw that Nyma's Instagram account was no more. "She  _ deleted _ , Pidge," he said, "because of  _ memes _ ."

Pidge laughed. "God, maybe we should feel bad about this."

"Oh, no, let me have this, Pidge," Lance said, shaking his head.

"I did all the work," Pidge retorted.

"Well I gave you all the memes."

They stared at each other for a solid few seconds, frowning, until Lance cracked a grin.

"All right," Pidge conceded, "it was a group effort."

"A partnership, if you will," he added, elbowing her in the side.

Pidge tightened her grip on his hand. "For sure," she agreed.

They left Matt and Shiro, waving as they did, and walked hand-in-hand into the ballroom between two performances. Since Lance wore their number, they didn't have to show the usher any spectator tickets, but they weren’t allowed seats so they lingered in the back, forced to peak at the dance floor over the heads of actual spectators.

Lance, naturally, had a height advantage. So he glanced at her and asked, "You want a boost?"

"And how will we manage that?" Pidge said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm wearing a dress and  _ heels _ ."

"I'll hold onto your legs?" Lance suggested.

Pidge shrugged. "Worth a try."

He dropped her hand and bent down, wrapping his arms around her thighs, then he lifted her with a groan. "Lift with your back, not your knees," she quipped as he straightened slowly.

"Isn't it the other way around?" Lance asked.

Pidge, from her excellent vantage, ran her fingers through Lance's almost bristly hair. "I have no idea."

"Don't mess with my hair, Pidge," he warned. "I spent five minutes combing it this morning!"

"You don't even have much!" she retorted.

"Shh, I can't hear you over the sound of your hypocrisy," he said, reaching up to flick a strand of her own short hair into her eyes.

"Lance!" she screeched when he almost dropped her.

(And to think he tried to convince her to add a  _ lift _ to their routine!)

"Sorry, sorry," he said as other spectators shot dirty looks at them. "Can you see?"

From here, Pidge's shoulder was higher than the top of Lance's head, so she propped her elbow on it. "Being tall is great!" she said. "I'm even more jealous of you and Hunk now."

"Aw, Pidge, but I like your height just the way it is!"

"Sorry, dude, but my body, my rules."

Lance chuckled, but he clammed up when someone hissed at them to shut up or leave. "So... _ can _ you see?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Pidge, recognizing the dancers that just started performing. "It's Keith and Allura."

"Wait, really?" said Lance, almost dropping her in his shock.

"Yep," she said. She fell silent, watching them. Keith was even better than he was when he was her partner, his motions smoother and looking more effortless - but it looked like he and Allura were dancing a Viennese waltz, more challenging than the standard waltz she and Matt preferred, and  _ far _ from effortless. Allura was an excellent dancer too and seemed to trust him completely. There was never even a hint of a stumble as they moved together, in perfect sync.

"We're gonna wreck them," she told Lance, voice hushed.

"You bet we are," Lance said.

Pidge watched for another few seconds, mesmerized despite herself, until Lance asked, "Uh, Pidge? Do you mind if I let you down now?"

"Oh, yeah, go for it," she said.

He let her down gently, and she slid through his arms until her feet rested on the floor. She didn't step away from him immediately, and he didn't let go of her. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he rested his head on hers.

"Are you nervous?" he asked her, his voice rumbling pleasantly through her body.

"Not as much as usual," she admitted, leaving the  _ thanks to you _ unspoken. "Are you?"

"A little," he said. She watched him check the time on his phone, and he said, "We have almost another hour. What do you want to do?"

She pointed to the ballroom entrance, right as the music - and Keith's and Allura's routine - ended. "I'm going to text my parents and see where they are."

"Oh, yeah, I should text Hunk and my sister and see if they're around."

"I thought you wanted me to meet your sister  _ after _ our routine?" said Pidge.

"Uh, talking to her might help  _ me _ feel less nervous," Lance said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "And we have time?" He shrugged.

Pidge smiled. "Sure, I'll meet her." And maybe it was for the best; since she was busy being anxious about their performance, she wouldn't have an opportunity to feel anxious about meeting one of Lance's family members.

It was only fair, she told herself. He met  _ her _ family.

She exited the ballroom, Lance right behind her though he walked past her, phone in hand while he offered her a wave and a smile.

Unsurprisingly, once she'd rifled through her bag and found her own phone, she saw that she had a text from her mother telling her that she and her father were already seated, which meant she wouldn't be seeing them again before the performance. Which was fine, she told herself. She didn't  _ need _ to be reassured, but it would be nice.

Lance rejoined her quickly, Hunk and a young woman that bore a strong resemblance to him with him. "Pidge, my dear dance partner," he said with a flourish of his arm, "this is my youngest sister, Cecilia. Cecilia, my dear sister, this is my partner, Pidge."

"I'm older than you, Lance," his sister, Cecilia, pointed out. Pidge held out her hand, expecting a handshake, but instead she was engulfed in a warm hug. "Oh, it's so nice to meet you, Pidge. Lance has told me so much about you just  _ today _ ."

"Cici!" Lance said, sounding scandalized.

"What?" Cecilia said, letting go of Pidge and crossing her arms, staring at Lance pointedly. "Would you have me lie to her?"

"No!" Lance said, waving his arms and blushing furiously. "But I  _ would _ have you  _ omit _ certain things."

Pidge, also feeling heat creeping into her cheeks, said, "It's nice to meet you, Cecilia. I've heard a lot about you too."  _ In only one day, _ she added to herself, flashing a grin at her.

"By the way, Pidge," Cecilia said, tone contemplative, "I can already tell you're much nicer than Lance's old partner. Oh, what was her name?" She tapped her chin. "Not that it matters, but she was a bi--"

"Hey, Cecilia," Hunk interrupted then, "let's go reclaim our seats before someone takes them, yeah?"

Cecilia's eyes were sharp as she appraised Hunk, but she shrugged and agreed, "Fine. Lead the way, big man." The two of them wave as they left, with Hunk calling back, "Break a leg!"

"Too late for Matt," Pidge muttered to Lance, causing him to snort a laugh. "Anyway," she said, looking at him, "we should probably go backstage."

"Yeah," Lance agreed with a nod and a wide smile that managed to look excited and anxious at the same time. "Let's do that."

They walked in silence, arm-in-arm, around the ballroom to the staging area, where pairs waited to be called for their performance before the judges. Some couples that had just come off the stage also lingered there, including Keith and Allura.

Lance put a hand to his mouth, audibly kissing it, and smirked at them as he raised it again. Allura raised an eyebrow and smiled just a bit, while Keith rolled his eyes.

Pidge glanced at him, unsure if she should be annoyed or amused. "Did you just blow a kiss to them?"

"Yep," Lance said cheerfully. "Don't worry, it's a pre-routine ritual for us at this point."

Pidge honestly had no idea what to say to that, but she couldn't keep herself from grinning. His enthusiasm was infectious, even if she could tell he was nervous from the way his heart was pounding - and they stood closely enough she could hear it. But the way he effused confidence eased her own anxiety.

They could do this, she thought, and they would be great.

_ Go, _ her father would tell her and Matt before a judged performance.  _ Be great. _

And they were.

* * *

When Lance and Pidge were finally called for their performance, Pidge's palm was sweaty in his hand. He squeezed her hand, glancing at her reassuringly. "Let's knock their socks off," he said, remembering his boast to Keith a couple days ago.

He and Pidge had come so far in just a week to this point.

"Let's," Pidge said, squeezing his hand back.

Lance and Pidge walked arm-in-arm onto the floor. They didn't acknowledge the judges; they were not supposed to until they ended their routine. But they split in the center, going to opposite sides of the floor in preparation for their simultaneous solos.

His heart beat fast, and his smile was both excited and anxious. Pidge, not one for anxious-smiling, wore one that looked a little forced.

It was all part of the routine, this showmanship, this interplay and interaction with each other and with the audience, beyond just the steps and motions. It was something he'd always been good at, something his scores had always reflected.

A hush fell over the crowd as the emcee announced, "Next in the college division, we have Lance McClain and Katie Holt dancing the quickstep."

The emcee's level voice soothed Lance's nerves, but not as much as seeing Pidge wink at him from across the floor. His eyes widened, pleasantly surprised, and he smirked as the song started.

They'd done this before, he reminded himself. And they'd done it well. Today they just had to do it  _ better _ .

The music filled him with its bouncy energy as he danced. He kept his back straight and his feet quick, and when he and Pidge met, their hands joining as she slipped into the fold of his arms, he was grinning widely. He was having fun, and from the smile on Pidge's face he knew she was too.

It was perfect. Everything was perfect. Every turn, ever spin, every step he took, every motion he led Pidge into. Their feet tangled in just the right way, no stumbling or tripping or dragging, and to Lance it felt like they'd danced together his entire life.

When it ended, they were exactly in time with the music, and they held hands when they swept elegant bows to the judges and to the audience. And then they retreated backstage to the announcer calling for an intermission, breathless with the exhilaration of their dance and the laughter bubbling in their chests.

"Pidge," Lance said after he caught his breath.

"Lance," she said, grinning widely at him. Her face shone with perspiration and excitement, and whatever he wanted to say fled his mind in favor of:

"I lo--"

"Pidge! Lance!"

Lance cursed the interruption, even when he saw that it was Allura approaching them, Keith just a step behind her. "Hi," he said, trying his best not to scowl.

Pidge squeezed his hand, probably because she could sense his frustration. "You were great earlier," she told them.

"Thank you!" Allura said, clapping her hands together. "So were you!"

"Yeah, that was great," Keith said, eyeing Lance suspiciously. "I've never seen you dance anything like that before."

Lance's lips curved into a smirk. "Maybe you never looked hard enough, Keith. Did we knock your socks off or what?"

Pidge elbowed him in the side. "That's because he's never danced anything like that before," she reminded him.

"Keeping me humble already," Lance muttered, rubbing his side with his free hand.

Pidge flashed her own smirk at him. "That's what I'm here for," she said gleefully.

"I've never seen you dance like that either, Pidge," Keith added then, something teasing in his expression when he looked at her.

Lance surprised himself by feeling not a lick of envy, even when Pidge smiled warmly at Keith and replied, "That's because I haven't." She patted Lance on the shoulder. "Anyway, I think I'm going to go find my family. See you in the winner's circle." She led him away, waving towards Keith and Allura over their touching shoulders.

"The 'winner's circle', huh?" Lance said.

"Yes," said Pidge. "I feel really good about this."

Their eyes met, and Lance smiled. "Yeah, me too."

* * *

Results weren't until four, so there was plenty of time for Pidge to do something about the growling in her stomach.

Lance chuckled, nudging her with her shoulder. "Hungry?" he asked.

"I was so nervous I skipped lunch," she told him.

"Then let's grab something to eat before finding your family."

They wandered around the hotel, looking for a bar or something until they stumbled across a cafe. Pidge dug through her bag for her wallet, only to see that Lance already had his out.

"No," she said immediately.

"Aw, let me treat you, Pidge," Lance cajoled as he pulled out a debit card.

"No way," she said. "We are not setting this precedent."

"Come on, Pidge," Lance whined. "You do everything I do but  _ backwards and in high heels _ ."

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him, but she stubbornly clung to her wallet. "You're not wrong," she said, "which just means I'll have to order my food  _ backwards and in high heels _ ."

Which meant that Lance raced her to the cashier, which meant that because she was still wearing her heels - and her feet ached terribly by now - she lost.

She sighed and collapsed into a vacant seat at a small two-person table. She took out her phone and read the messages from her family, Shiro, and Hunk, all telling her they were amazing and looking forward to the awards' ceremony. Pidge smiled and replied to each one, and she tucked her phone away in time for Lance to return, hands full with two coffee cups and two plastic-wrapped sandwiches balanced on top.

Pidge stood and took the sandwiches before they fell, and Lance sat across from her. When she examined her options, he admitted, "I have no idea what you like on a sandwich, so I just got two things I like and you can pick one. Or both! I can buy more food."

Pidge set both sandwiches on the table and, in a fit of boldness, walked around the table and sat sideways in Lance's lap. "Thank you," she said, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his neck. She'd probably get lipstick on his clean blue collar, but at the moment she didn't care.

His arms settled around her, and she felt his nose pressing into her hair. "Pidge, are you okay?" he asked, voice quiet. "Not that I'm complaining about this, but...I'm a little confused. And it's just a sandwich, you know."

Right now, Pidge didn't how to tell him that she was simply grateful for their dance, for their friendship and for whatever else might happen between them, so she just snuggled a bit closer, breathing in his musky scent and the underlying hint of his pineapple shampoo. "I'm fine, Lance," she reassured him. "Perfectly fine."

"Good," Lance said. She heard the smile in his voice, especially when he asked, "But I thought you were hungry?"

* * *

Pidge ended up taking the peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich. She grimaced as she took the first bite though, and when he looked questioningly at her she complained, "It's  _ grape _ ."

Lance laughed. "You want to switch?" He hadn't touched the turkey sandwich yet.

"No," Pidge said, giving her sandwich as much attention as she had their routine less than an hour earlier.

He started in on his own sandwich, but Pidge finished hers before he was even halfway done. Which gave him the opportunity to quip, "So we're eating, and we walked here. Does this mean we're on our first date?"

Without missing a beat, Pidge picked up her hot chocolate and said, "We had our first date last night."

Lance almost spat out a mouthful of bland lunch meat and bread. "Some date," he said, hiding his hot face behind a hand.

"It was memorable," Pidge told him. Through his fingers, he could see her smirking at him, though her own cheeks were livid with a blush.

Pidge busied herself with her drink, and Lance finished his unsatisfying sandwich and replied to texts from his curious family members and from Hunk. Hunk's message was simple:  a thumbs-up emoji, a smiling face, and the dancing woman. And Cecilia's was mostly exclamation marks and a question:

_ DID YOU KISS HER AFTERWARDS LANCE?!?!?!?! _

Well, Cecilia was nothing if not enthusiastic.

Lance replied in the negative, but despite his disappointment that every chance he'd had so far had been interrupted, he could now confidently say that kissing Pidge was no longer a matter of  _ if _ , but a question of  _ when _ .

He looked up at her, where she sat across from him, hair escaping her bun and lipstick smudged. She hummed as she sipped her hot chocolate, and he recognized the tune from their performance.

Lance mumbled a few of the lyrics:

___"Ooh that man is on my list_  
___And ooh that man I wanna kiss_  
_My only sin is I can't win_  
___Ooh I wanna love that man."_

Pidge looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "Is the song stuck in your head too?" she asked.

Lance smiled slyly at her. "So what were you thinking when you chose it?" he wondered.

She blinked at him. "That you liked it too so we were in agreement?" she said, sounding confused.

"That's all?" he said. Disappointment filled his gut, but it was so minuscule compared to his euphoria that he barely noted it.

"Well..." Pidge gripped her cup in both hands. "I didn't pay much attention to the lyrics until today."

"And?" Lance prompted when she paused.

Pidge shrugged and looked him right in the eye. "What do you think, Lance?" She leaned across the table, and he closed his eyes, thinking she was about to kiss him...until she snatched the green-painted rose from the lapel of his jacket. "Can I have this?" she asked.

Lance blinked, stunned at the non sequitur. "Uh, sure," he said. He couldn't help gaping at her as she twirled the stem between two fingers, his heart pounding furiously at another kiss thwarted. Did she know what she just did to him?

She  _ does _ , he realized when he saw her smirking. When he caught her eye, she winked.

Pidge was teasing him, and Lance both loved and hated it.

* * *

When Lance left to call his mother and tell her about the performance, Pidge slumped in her seat, annoyed at herself for chickening out.

The moment had been perfect! Lance even closed his eyes!

And yet she now held the fruit - or rose - of her thwarted labor in her hand instead.

At least the prize was pretty, she thought, tucking the stem over her ear. The shade of the paint complemented the fabric of her dress nicely; Cecilia chose it well.

Pidge glanced at her phone, and when she saw the time she stood, grabbing her bag and throwing away her sandwich wrapper and cup. She held onto Lance's though since he hadn't finished it and left to find Lance and remind him that the results would be announced soon.

He leaned against the wall just outside the cafe, smiling softly as he listened to his mother talking. She could barely hear his reply, but when she approached him she realized she wouldn't be able to understand it anyway since he was talking in Spanish.

Lance caught sight of her right before she stood in front of him, and he smiled a bit wider for her. He reached for his cup, and she gave it to him. Then, after a few more words from both his end and his mother's, he hung up.

"Results soon," she told him.

He glanced at his phone's screen. "Oh, shoot, you're right." He chugged the rest of his drink, tossed the cup into a nearby trash can, and grabbed her hand. "Let's go."

They returned less than sedately to the backstage area, right in time to see the organizers forming pairs into lines, with the middle and high school classes in the front and the college class in the back. Lance and Pidge took their place near Keith and Allura.

Allura took Pidge's free hand and squeezed, smiling at her reassuringly.

Heart pounding with renewed nerves, Pidge returned the smile.

Middle grade were called out first, and she and Lance made idle guesses over who would take first place, runner up, and second runner up, even though they didn't watch any of the performances. Allura participated, because she caught a glimpse of a few in the morning.

"The first runner up will be the pair in yellow," she said. "I think first place will be the pair in white and gold."

Allura was right, and they all politely applauded.

High school was next, and the game resumed. "First place is the two in purple," she decided.

"We didn't watch them," Keith pointed out from beside her.

"Yes, well, I like her dress," Allura said, pouting slightly. "It's very sparkly."

Keith snorted, an amused smile on his lips.

Allura’s guess ended up being the second runner up, a defeat she accepted with grace and a concession of, "We can't all be right all the time."

"Just most of the time," Keith muttered, and this time it was Allura's turn to snort.

Then it was their class’s turn, and they fell in line with everyone else as they made their way into the ballroom to the rhythm of thunderous applause. Pidge shifted her hand from Lance's grip to his arm, linking it with hers. He turned his hand up though, an invitation to hold it anyway, and she accepted, their fingers tangling together.

Outside, under glaring lights she refused to notice during their performance, she did her best to search the audience for her family. She smiled when her eyes fell on Matt, noticeable from the glare on his glasses...and because he waved one of his crutches in the air.

"Pidge, I like your brother," Lance said, grinning as he followed her gaze.

Pidge huffed a light laugh. "That's because you didn't have to grow up with him."

Lance looked like he was about to retort, but then the emcee asked the audience to quiet and he fell silent.

"We did well," Pidge reassured him, squeezing his hand. " _ Really _ well."

"You bet we did," Lance said.

The emcee finally announced the second runner up, a pair that Pidge didn't recognize. Following applause and the presentation of a trophy from the judges, they were marched off for pictures for the local newspaper, and the audience fell silent again, tense with anticipation.

"Next," called the emcee, "we will announce the two top scoring pairs before calling forward the best."

"That's new," Lance muttered, a trace of anxiety in his voice.

"Our top two pairs are...Allura Prince and Keith Kogane, and Lance McClain and Katie Holt."

"Ohhhhh my God," Lance said, gripping Pidge's hand so tightly it almost hurt.

She tugged him forward so they could join Keith and Allura in front of the judges. She tuned out the applause, so loud and overwhelming was it, but grinned when she spotted Matt once more waving his crutch while an arm - either Shiro's or their mother's - tried to force it down.

Pidge's grin only widened when she saw the eagerness on Lance's face.

"So," she said, "you want to win to beat Keith, or do you want to win for its own sake?"

"I want to win to win with you, Pidge," Lance said earnestly, then he did something she never would have imagined.

He wrapped her in his arms and  _ dipped _ her, and when she reflexively wrapped her arms around his neck, he leaned down and kissed her.

_ Finally! _ she thought as she closed her eyes and kissed him back. She didn't notice the audience going wild, or Allura laughing, or the emcee hissing his impatience at them. No, she only noticed Lance's soft lips on hers and the brush of his nose against her cheek.

When they parted, his face was flushed and he breathed heavily through his mouth, and Pidge thought she must look the same. He grinned down at her, one end of his mouth a little higher than the other; she wondered why she never noticed that quirk before.

"Finally," he said, helping her back to her feet. He kept an arm loosely wrapped around her waist though, and she wound her own around his back.

The emcee shot them an irritated look, but Pidge could only grin at him. And he carried on with the show as if nothing ever happened.

The crowd fell silent again, and the emcee said, "And the winners of first place are...Allura Prince and Keith Kogane."

The audience burst into cheers, and Pidge dropped her arm from around Lance so she could clap, and he did the same. He glanced at her, and she at him.

He smiled and shrugged, "Runner up isn't too bad, right?"

"Not if we follow it up with  _ first _ next time," she agreed.

Lance's grin widened, and Pidge thought she'd never felt warmer or fonder. "Count on it," he said.

And when the emcee acknowledged them as the first runner up, Pidge grabbed Lance by the collar and kissed him again because she could.

"I still feel like we won," Pidge admitted to Lance later, after she'd changed back into jeans and sneakers and he had her tucked under his arm. "Do you?"

"Yeah," Lance said dreamily, brushing hair away from her face and kissing her cheek.

"Please, just get a room," Hunk complained from across the table.

"Please stay here," Matt said from beside him.

Cecilia raised her phone to take a photo and said, "I can't wait to tell  _ mami _ you got a girlfriend before you won a ballroom dancing competition."

Lance practically lept across the table, flailing for her phone. "Don't you dare! That's my news to tell, Cici!"

Cecilia just laughed as she held the phone out of reach, and Pidge wondered what else could change in just under a week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weird pet peeve: using the 'fanon'-ish last names for characters with no confirmed last names
> 
> ALSO if you've been wondering why there is zero mention of Christmas even though this takes place in December... I don't celebrate Christmas and tend to forget it exists when it isn't November through January, even though I live in a mostly Christian country. So that's that, really
> 
> Anyway THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND I HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT. Pop a comment (even if it's just to tell me you liked it, because those comments are also GREAT), and, of course, you can find me on tumblr at [sp4c3-0ddity](http://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com). I'm always down to talk about Voltron and plance (and about Pidge and Lance and literally any of the characters as individuals lmao)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is finished, so it's just a matter of beta-ing and posting at this point, though I'm not sure about the frequency of that yet.
> 
> Like it so far though??
> 
> If you want you can also find me on tumblr: [sp4c3-0ddity](http://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/)


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